


Sothoryos: Drahkness Kahn

by Harwin_Snow



Series: War for the Eastern Dawn [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Action/Adventure, Battle, Brindled Men - Freeform, Corwyn Velaryon, Destiny, Dothraki, Ghiscari - Freeform, Inspired by A Song of Ice and Fire, Lem - Freeform, Lovecraftian Erotica, Major Original Character(s), Non-Human Humanoid Society, Original Character(s), Original Plot, POV Original Character, R'hllor - Freeform, Sothoryos, Survival, Survival Horror, Swordfighting, Wilderness Survival, Worldbuilding, mestizo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 45
Words: 176,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24032026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harwin_Snow/pseuds/Harwin_Snow
Summary: A dragonseed of mysterious birth, Harwin, has hidden his lineage all his life.  Now, shipwrecked off the coast of Sothoryos in 151 AC, the grown son of Sarah Snow faces the dangerous Green Continent, the monstrous Brindled Men, and a threat to all the known world.  Discover Sothroyos, as Harwin Snow discovers himself.  Aegon Velaryon.  OC Origin.
Series: War for the Eastern Dawn [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029282
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

1  
He wasn’t sure if it was the coolness or the wetness of the wave that woke him. His eyes struggled to open. Harsh rays from the summer sun cut like daggers. He couldn’t summon his hands or arms to block them, so he rolled away, turning his shoulder plopping further into the course, jagged sand. Lying face first, another wave politely lapped at him, the salt and sea a welcome relief to the skin on his face peeling and blistered from his time adrift. The slight sting evidence he still lived.

  
He wasn’t sure how long it had been since the wreck. Hours? Certainly longer than that. Days? Not many, for he’d be surely dead if had been more than three. He had held his raft, a splinter from the now sunk Strong Winds, bobbing up and down in the waves surrendered to the sun and sea life below. Motionless and mindless, he bobbed praying to both the seven and the old gods. He didn’t know which were more likely to answer here. He prayed for both life and death, depending on the moment. And in his last moments of consciousness before waking, he even prayed for forgiveness. A true folly this maiden voyage had now become.

  
With another wave, and another slight sting, he felt blood coursing through his body again. With a grunt, he dug his fingers into the beach, pushed up, arching his back as his shoulders lifted off the sand. He fought onto his right knee, then his left, and then crawled out of the surf, a final wave ushering him toward an uncertain future.

  
The sand was sharp and harsh. With a hidden strength, he dragged his still mostly limp body to what looked like a thin patch of long grass. He told himself he’d eat it if it didn’t smell. Not that he had much experience tasting grass, but he had learned caution was best when ingesting anything in the tropics. Just two weeks earlier he’d seen an oarsman boil from the inside after drinking some water which seemed clean. He reached the patch, the blades slim and dry, like the thin barbs of a catfish, but his hunger panged at his insides and demanded his mouth at least try to ingest it. He chewed slowly, like a cow or tortoise, savoring only the slaver that built in his dry mouth as the grass jabbed at his tongue and pallet. He swallowed the mouthful reverting back to his mindset at sea; not sure if it was life he wanted, or relief.

  
He reached for another blade, when the sounds of the waves behind him startled his logical mind back into action. Back from the relief he almost succumbed to.  
He was not the only remnant of Strong Winds washing ashore. Driftwood and debris started to gather along the surf. He scanned the shore from right to left. The wreckage stretched out for what seemed like a half mile. His eyes were finally open and adjusted to the sun, but his mind was still blurry, foggy. His eyes traced the shoreline, noticing he’d landed in an alcove or a small pool. At the edge of the water the beach curved on each side into jagged rocks that sprouted into cliffs and crags. His eyes continued to trace the outlines of this strange land. Bright greenery clung to the cliffs edge, which filled out as his gaze moved further inland. Dense forests of trees began. Not sentinels, oaks, or maples he’d known as a boy in White Harbor, but strange trees with bright orange trunks and thick broad leaves. Splashes of color popped out from the scenery, yellows, blues, and vibrant reds. The greens were more teel, the browns more a burnt rust. Vines and grasses covered the forest floor. He saw an ape with violet eyes ponder at him, tilt his head, and then bounce back into the foliage.  
He sat up and turned his body away from the shore and behind him. Clearer, his mind began to speak. If I am to live, I must find sustenance. He was too weak to catch a living thing, he knew, but a land as tropical as this must have some fruit. Which fruit would be edible or lethal? He’d have to consider, but in truth, despite all his knowledge of the known world, this was likely a new world. Any of his existing knowledge would be useless. He’d have to trust in the g. . . well, maybe no gods ruled here. He’d have to trust in himself.

  
He scanned the forest before committing to his feet. He’d save whatever energy he had left until he had a more certain plan. No fruit hung on the edge of the forest. He scanned it four times to be sure. Reluctantly he thought to himself, Time to rise. He lifted his arms out. As a boy, he’d overheard a master-at-arms training some useless lordlings that a man must lift himself, support his own weight, and ever since that lesson he never used his arms to lift his body off the ground. No matter how many times he might fall down to it.  
This could be the exception, he thought, a little too late as he stood for the first time since his ship exploded beneath him. A flash memory seared his mind’s sight. He heard the moan and crack of the hull as the ballasts snapped like oaken twigs under a mammoth. He felt the icy fingers of the sea rushing up to his ankles, biting cold. He saw the reaching arms of his men as the deep pulled them down, and the shapes their faces strained into as they knew their life was ending; their eyes pleading to him for a savior.

  
The sun baked down on what was left of his rough spun tunic. He could feel the ocean water drying off his shoulders as he stood devising a plan. If he ventured into this unknown wilderness, he’ d be wandering into danger, yet he knew he had no choice. He allowed his mind to think through it though. Stalling with one last delay before embarking on his new adventure. Into the new world.  
His first steps here were like his first steps in life, doubtful and stumbling. He swayed, as if drunk, for five or six steps until his normal gait took over. His heart pumped within his chest faster, the muscles in his legs sore, his shoulders hanging, and his head thumping with every heart beat. His body and mind felt fully awake now, and he could feel the consequences of the ship wreck for the first time. His arms dangled from his body like they were made of dragon bone, heavy from holding his splinter raft. His legs burned within, each step a relieving stretch from the aches earned kicking the water. He lifted his heavy arm to touch his forehead. He felt a lump over his right brow. The tender skin unbroken, but swollen, he didn’t remember what caused it, but the lump was there. And the headache it came with hit him just then.

  
As his leather boots stretched in front of him one a time, his body floated behind them. Each step in the sand felt harder than the last. He did all he could to keep from stumbling, for he did not know if he had the strength to get back up. His eyes studied the few feet in front of him. His head pointed down at his feet. His neck burned in the sun.

  
At last, his right foot landed on the forest floor. A vine or a root almost tripped him. He reached out and caught himself on a tree. The moss or algae on its trunk was moist. Can I eat that? No. He replied to himself. He figured he might be talking to himself a lot now. So he separated the weak voice in his head from the strong one in his heart.

  
Inside the forest, each step was its own adventure. Leaves in different hues littered the floor like a rainbow had broken apart and crashed like his ship. Piles of old ones were trampled down in spots, exposing game trails and make shift paths. He looked for prints finding nothing specific, only the evidence of life in some form. As he studied the floor, he saw a patch of it move; only a subtle crinkle of leaves. He lifted some of the leaf carpet to expose a formation of antlike bugs with fatter bodies and larger pincers. They followed each other single file, holding pieces of foliage or the body parts of other insects in their mandibles. Their bodies were black with an iridescent blue that shone off them when the sun hit. He thought for a moment, then stamped at the column with leather booted right foot. He was brave enough to eat the bugs. Not brave enough to touch them with faces like that.

  
He grabbed what remained of the fallen soldiers. The rest of the formation carried on at the same pace as if nothing happened. Such is life in the jungle, he thought. They must be used to attacks like this.

  
The first bug took a few minutes to pop into his mouth. He studied it first, as if he knew what to look for. He knew in his mind that he was just stalling the inevitable, but it felt good to go through the machinations of it. He’d have to live much more cautiously now then he’d lived as a sailor. Especially after the brashness that led him here.

  
His journey was meant to end in Qarth. After the zealous ramblings of a beautiful priestess, he added a port to his trade route: Asshai. If he hadn’t ventured further East, he and his crew would be in King’s Landing by now. Not washed up, or at the bottom of the sea.

  
When his hand worked up the courage to lift the bug to his mouth, he struggle to open it . Slowly, he placed what was left of the smashed husk inside and bit down. Crunch. It tasted of dirt and leaves, but the rush of its guts almost made him retch. There was little taste in his mouth. The salt water still lingered from his time adrift, but the consistency of the thick liquid that made up the bug’s insides turned his own. It was all he could do to hold back the contents of his stomach, which was mostly bile anyway, but if he knew if he brought it up, he’d dehydrate and die even faster. He swallowed the mouthful down and reached down to the ground for another. The second wasn’t so bad. The third easy.

  
He couldn’t feel energy from his meal. The morsels were so small it might not even matter. But he lifted his head nonetheless to continue his foraging. There’s got to be some fruit he thought. Or I guess there’s more bugs.

  
He searched for the course of an hour or so, wandering his new surroundings both foraging and exploring. After fifteen or twenty minutes he could feel a little more strength. If not from the bugs, from the confidence he gained with every step. He knew his determination would be as important as his knowledge and focused his mind on survival to keep it from drifting back into the guilt of what he had caused.

  
He finally reached a grove of what looked like some kind of berry bushes. The growths beneath the leaves were dark ruby tears of juice and sugar. He inspected the bushes for evidence of them ever being eaten. At first they seemed untouched, but as he searched, he noticed one bush had juice rubbed into one of the broad hunter green leaves in the shape of a tiny finger. Those monkeys he thought, with the purple eyes.

  
He quickly gathered a handful and crammed them into his mouth. His mouth puckered as the sour, tart juice blasted his tongue. He shuddered, slightly shaking his head, as he chewed the skin of the fruit, grinding it down before he built up enough courage to swallow. With the bugs, he needed the courage to put them in his mouth. The berries required courage to put them in his belly. Many a voyager had died in front of him after decisions like this. He thought to pray again, then only encouraged himself. If I die, I die. I just wish it tasted better to be my last meal. Bugs and sour fruit.

  
After the first four berries stayed in his stomach with little protest, he gathered as many as he could. He took one of the broad leaves and shaped it into a makeshift pouch, filled it with berries, folded it, and stashed it in the pocket of his breeches. Water. I need water.

  
Fear crept back into his head as his eyes scanned for a stream or pond. He had heard stories of the sailors who’d burn to death or whose faces melted off after drinking water in unknown places like this. Even the names of the diseases scared him into a shiver. Blood boils, green fever, dancing plague, sweetrot, bronze pate, the Red Death, brownleg, wormbone, sailor’s bane, pus-eye, and yellow gum to name a few he’d heard of. Many a tale reached Westeros of the dangers of the foreign lands he hoped to reach and trade with on his voyage, but now he might face one. His plan was to stay aboard his ship unless in port. Little good that plan would do him now.

  
He thought of a solution. He wouldn’t drink any water he found, he told himself. All the stories say the water looked fine enough. Until hours later when a man’s anus sank out of his hole and his entrails hung from his ass like an anchor. If I find water, I could boil it clean. At least it was diligent of him to think so. The confidence he gained in the plan was worth more than the veracity of its theory.

  
A different rustle in the forest made him jump out of his skin. He turned to search for it. Only the shaking leaves remained. But they weren’t like the rustled leaves on the ground where he found the bugs. The trees ten feet up from him shook as if a trebuchet threw a boulder through. A huge boulder. But he couldn’t see anything but the movement of the foliage. A whole tree shook from trunk to tip.

  
He crouched down, pivoting his head back and forth so quickly the lump on his brow began to ache. All he could see was the forest. Colors and shapes, but nothing specific. Nothing on its own. The blur of the trees and bushes stopped swaying where something had rushed by. The rustles died down to a silent kiss of leaves. Then nothing. He froze for a few more moments. Stretched his neck up to peek beyond the brush he used for cover. Nothing. Nothing but all these colors and all this greenery. Though he knew something living was close. Something big. He forgot about water and reached for his dirk. It had clung to him the entire time at sea. He’d lost his longsword and scabbard, but his dirk clung to him like he clung to the splinter raft. He touched its hilt, still moist with drops of sea or dew, gripped it and pulled. It stuck in its sheath at first. The salt water created suction. Then it slid out and he held it up. The blade still looked sharp. The metal glistened as drops of water reflected the sun that shone down between the tree tops. He waited another ten minutes, motionless, until he took his first tip toe.  
He crept through the wood taking cover behind each trunk and bush as he approached it. After a half mile, he spotted a clearing and what looked like a pool of standing water. It wasn’t so much a lake as a pond, but it wasn’t sea water, and he knew he’d need to drink water soon. He could feel the slaver in his pallet drying up with each step. The skin on the inside of his cheek almost cracked from how dry it felt as he touched it with his tongue.

  
Before he approached the water, he scanned the clearing for signs of life. Crouched in the brush, his eyes moved along the scene left to right, right to left. He scanned for what seemed like an hour, but it was more likely only a few minutes. He stared with such focus time seemed slower.

  
All he saw was a few small ripples in the water. Out poked a head. Food. Meat. He scurried, still in the cover of brush, down to the pool with his dirk in hand. He waited until it got closer to the water’s edge, only its head visible, the thick water from the murky pool hiding the rest of its body. Wildly, like a wolf, he pounced at it, dirk first, thrusting down through the base of its neck with his right hand, then grabbing the prey with his left. He splashed down into the water, his chest plunging through the surface first waiting to hit the bottom, but the pool was deep and he floated for a moment, the kill in his grip. Suddenly, his leg was on fire with a searing pain. It moved up and down on him, jaws chewing. His body jolted, rolled, and then flapped to shore, dirk and kill in his hands. The pain continued as he pulled himself ashore, the fish’s mouth still chewing his thigh.

  
He thrust his dirk down at it, impaling its neck and nicking his leg. The cut from the dirk felt like nothing compared to the bite. The attacker had a white face that continued into its short, square body bleeding into purple, red fins. It was all mouth with enormous curved sharp teeth still stained with his blood. Its mouth still chomped at the air as it took its lasts gulps of life. It flopped twice, wriggled, then stopped, the dirk all the way through the middle of its stump of a body. His attacker now dead, he looked at the hole in his leg.

  
The bite cut clean through his breeches. A chunk of skin the size of a large coin was missing in a perfectly cut oval shape, with three additional bites around it. The teeth marks were easily visible and bleeding through the fabric of his breeches. The pain in the water was nothing compared to the pain he felt now. The things teeth were as sharp as Valarian Steel. He must have only felt the bite after it had torn the chunk away, for he couldn’t have let it bite for more than a moment.

  
Still bleeding, he looked at his kill in his left hand. It was some strange looking turtle with a long thin nose and red markings that trimmed the side of its face and led into its soft body between its shell. Geometric patterns marked its mostly green shell with orange and yellow intertwined outlines. He pulled the dirk out of the fish and cracked the turtle open like a clam. He had a plan now. All he needed was the turtles’ shell, and to somehow get a fire going.

  
It took him less time to find the stone he’d strike for the spark then it took him to find the kindling. All told, it took him less than an hour, hobbling as he went, his leg bleeding from the open chunk. He needed the fire to close his boil the water and close his wound. He’d cut out the skin around the opening, fearing the contaminated water would lead to infection. And after boiling the water, he’d pour it into his new hole before closing up with his fire heated dirk. He moved quickly for someone about to maim themselves, but his most recent experiences in the new world helped him realize this place would kill him before it let him rest. This was a hard place. He needed to be as hard or harder to survive.

  
The kindling took nicely and before long there was enough of a flame to work with. First, he’d have to cut into his leg to remove the skin surrounding the bites. The big chunk and the teeth marks. He grabbed the stub of a thick branch and used it to bite down as he cut into his flesh. Trying to move quickly, his entire body jolted springing up inches off the ground as he sat in front of the fire, the dirk two inches deep into his thigh. Blood slowly poured over the rest of his leg and bites as he carved into himself. Tears filled his eyes. His teeth dug into the branch. He grunted, the sound muffled by the branch, even though his mind told him not to. Then he moved to the teeth marks. Instead of slicing the entire section off in one piece, he took his time. Methodically, he sliced off each tooth mark leaving open sockets of red and new flesh, blood everywhere around his leg.

  
Next he grabbed the turtle shell, gathered some water from the pool, and held it over his fire. He tore a piece of his breeches off to hold the shell without burning his hand. The water did not boil quickly, but when bubbles started to rise he counted to himself in his head One, two, three, NOW and poured the water into the chunk. The shock of the heat must have numbed him, for the pain wasn't as intense as he feared. It almost soothed him, and he repeated it six more times, his leg surprisingly cool, like the heat had healed him. Cleansed him.

  
Then he heated up his dirk to burn the wounds closed. He started with the bites. They weren’t deep, so they were easy. Like the boiling water, the hot dirk was relieving. Then he sealed the chunk. He pushed down into the hole, multiple times, and the warm caress of the steel sizzled audibly on his skin, though still, he felt no pain from the heat.

  
Exhausted, he layed back into the crumbled leaves behind him and wandered into a daydream of home. He remembered the brisk summer air coming off the Harbor. He was born in the North and eventually made his home in White Harbor. He remembered the smells of the White Knife. The bustle of the port. He had always loved seeing the foreign traders and their wares. The Ibbanese whalers, the Braavosi merchants, the Tyroshi spicers, and the women each brought with them. He never found the women of Ib attractive, but whenever he saw one in port, he could not look away. The foreign sights and people filled his young mind with such wonder. Those memories probably lead to him being here. Wherever here was.

  
The wounds closed, he ripped what was left of his sleeves and wrapped his leg. He wrapped the cloth tightly, so if he had to move around he’d be able to with only slight pain. He looked to his small fire. It still burned. Now he could boil water and cook his fish and turtle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> This is my first ever attempt at anything like this, so thank you so much for giving me a chance.
> 
> Please let me know what you think and what can be better. I really appreciate the feedback from those both brave and awesome enough to read this. 
> 
> I know there isn't any of the characters you've grown obsessed with, and for that I understand the potential hesitancy in embarking on a journey as long as this book, but know that the things that make Game of Thornes/ASOIAF, Game of Thrones/ASOIAF, are what inspired Sothoryos. This work is an attempt to EXPAND on the world we've all grown to love. Martin may never even finish the works he's set out to, so I felt it important (at least for my own taste) to create something new and exciting WITHIN his realm, as opposed to what so many other great authors do RECREATING it.
> 
> The first ten or so chapters set up the world and setting of this work. After that, characters, cultures, and antagonists start to come more clearly into play. There is backstory for the OC that eventually illustrates who and why this Bastard is important enough to read, and if you're able to make it there, there's also a pairing and slow burn love story intertwined with the action and battle scenes that make this one of my favorite things to read as well as write.
> 
> Thanks again for reading, if you are, and I look forward to impressing you and entertaining you as the chapters continue on.
> 
> You, at the end of the day, are why I spend hours and hours doing this. To give you something I wanted as a reader, and to create something both ambitious and imaginative to help fill the void in our hearts as we wait for the Winds of Winter and The House of The Dragon.
> 
> Enjoy the rest of Sothoryos: Drahkness Kahn, and let me know what you think.
> 
> HS


	2. Chapter 2

2  
Eating took his mind off his leg for a time. Aboard Strong Winds he rarely ate this well. He’d learned to forsake luxuries while voyaging under the sails of other captains. Salt beef and salt fish became a welcome staple to his diet. He dressed in garments given to him as gifts and little else. Whether as a toddler in the kitchen, a young boy scrubbing the deck, a young man rowing, or even when he’d finally reached the captain’s table to sup as an apprenticed third officer, he’d saved his earnings. At port in foreign lands, spending was easy for most. Hearty meals were always available, for the right price, like lamprey pie or roast boar. There were fineries of cloth, like the silks of the Free Cities and Myrish lace, to improve a man’s appearance. There were metal workers crafting armor and weaponry. And of course, brothels, the worst, or to hear the men tell it, the best place to lose coin. He’d lived his whole life earning wages above his station to one day be his own man. Saving each copper to become more than just “The Bastard’s Bastard.” He hated that phrase. As if it weren’t enough to know he was low born, he was the product of the wrong side of the sheet, twice.

  
The stringy turtle meat tasted earthy, almost foul. He’d never had turtle before. Never seen one skinned. Or shelled? When he had popped it open, he scraped the top shell clean and left all the meat and insides in the bottom shell. There was surprisingly very little to the thing. It was mostly shell. And if he hadn’t caught, or been caught by, the fish, he’d have gone hungry again tonight. The only sections he yielded any meat from were the legs and the neck. Neither was a choice cut, but it tasted better than the bugs.

  
The fish yielded more than the turtle, but the stumpy square of a thing was mostly mouth. There was a menacing look in its eyes even as he flayed it. As he butchered it, he couldn’t help but think it was designed only to kill. Its meat was white and flaky, like the fish he’d eaten at White Harbor. He planned to save some, but after the first few bites, his hunger took over and he finished every piece he’d cut. He even thought about eating the head and eyes. But after bugs, berries, a turtle, and this killer fish, he decided he wasn’t that desperate. Not anymore.

  
The uncooked scraps had a stench he would have sooner buried then lingered by. But he figured to use the rest of the turtle and fish for bait. The killer fish couldn’t have been alone in that pool, and with an injured leg, he wouldn’t be hunting monkeys any time soon.

  
The sun was mostly hidden by the canopy. Beams of light shot down through gaps in the trees like burning arrows, but he knew it would be dark soon and he’d need somewhere to set up “camp.” He thought of the rustle he saw earlier in the trees. Whatever that was, he didn’t want to meet it in the dark.

  
His stomach finally quiet, he could once again use his mind. He observed the surrounding clearing and the colorful wall of trees that bordered it. His pool of killer fish would not be an ideal camp ground. The wall of trees would be perfect cover for a larger predator. Bodies of water eventually would attract other life, unless the water was contaminated and he’d soon die anyway. He had yet to see what else lived in this jungle other than the monkey, bugs, turtle, and fish, but he knew there was something out there intent on killing him. In places like this there always is. In every place there is.

  
Even back in White Harbor, a civilized city with cobblestone streets, markets, and laws, he felt as if he was being hunted. Since he could remember, he was told to watch for strangers who asked about his parents. He never knew his father, and could barely remember his mother. He was told his mother was taken during the Winter Fever. Almost half the city died that year. He became the ward of a third son’s widow of the White Harbor Starks for a time, until she died and he became a harbor wander. One of his earliest memories though, was of his journey to White Harbor from wherever he was born. He sometimes still dreamt of the litter that carried him and his mother most of the way. When he pictured it, he couldn’t see his mother’s face. He tried but it was just a blur. He only remembered asking, “Why do we have to go?” and the response his mother gave him, “To keep you safe, pup. There’s men that mean us harm. Your father’s kin. They would have it that you were never born. Since you were, and your father’s gone, they’d like it not were you to come for what’s yours by right.”

  
A boy of four, he did not understand then. A man grown of three and twenty, he still didn’t fully understand. His mother never told him who his father was in name. The only things he knew of his father were from the fairy tales he was told. A prince he was. A knight. A valiant warrior. A savior to the realm and a man who died in battle. A man grown, he knew these all to be falsehoods. His mother was no more than a common bastard. His father, if he was a knight, must’ve been some northerner gathering at Winterfell to join Cregan Stark’s host during the War of the Greens and Blacks. His mother birthed him before the northmen traveled south. No northmen was ever a prince. No northmen ever a hero in that war. No man in the North even tasted a battle until the Dance was done. As an orphan in the Harbor, he’d clung to these tales, lost and without an identity. Even his name was lost, as his mother explained, “If you use the name of your birth, they’re sure to find and kill you. If anyone asks your name, tell them you are Harwin Snow.” All who knew him now, referred to him as Har. He told anyone who asked, “It’s short for Harbor. I take the name of the family I have left. For the Harbor is all that is kin to me.”

  
For shelter, he’d have to find some cave, or brush. Gods. The hell do I know of making a shelter in the tropics? At home, we’d build a keep of snow and be done with it. In the North, there were wolves and bears, and not much else that would kill you, especially in Winter. He wasn’t sure what to call this new world, but he knew the fish would not be the only thing in these woods with razor sharp teeth and a taste for man-blood, but he didn’t dare to imagine.

  
Basilisk isle was just off the course he was following. Giant lizards didn’t seem to be a sight he’d wish to see. But in his travels, he’d heard of far worse creature than that. Giant Manticores with venomous tails and lions’ bodies were said to roam in the unknown lands below Essos. He had heard of Blood Wyrms, Vampire bats, and lizards that stood on two legs and hunted in packs with talons the size of swords. What caused the trees to move the way they had earlier? Not likely any of these suspects. More likely the apes he had heard about, the size of mammoths.

  
Nevertheless, even if it were a mere shadowcat, out in the open like this, he’d be dinner. And with an injured leg, he’d find it difficult to defend himself.  
As he thought, he remembered the wreckage at the shore. Surely there’s something I can use. All the gold and steel most likely would have sunk to the bottom of the Summer Sea. But there has to be a crate or two with something. His cargo was mostly goods for trade, but he had tents he’d set up in port. He had rope, there was driftwood he could use to build. With energy from his meal, and water from his pool, he could double back and search the wreckage. Something of value had to have washed ashore at some point.

  
He was almost in a delirium when he journeyed into the forest, but he’d noticed based on the rising sun he was traveling east. If he could find west, he’d eventually make it back to the sea. He studied the base of the trees until he could find enough moss to consistently mark south. Moss grew on all sides in this forest though. The filtered sunlight must change the rules in a place like this. Then he tried to determine the direction the sun was setting but the trees hid the sky from him. He tried to remember which side of the killer fish pool he had come from, but after diving in, getting bit, and cutting into his own flesh, he was turned around. He searched for his footpath, but he remembered he had traveled into the jungle since the trees swayed through the brush and hidden. Where the hell is West?

  
As he searched for his bearings, he stood up. His left leg was a little stiff from the wraps, but he could still walk. Not as if he hadn’t just been maimed, but he could move well enough. He knew he’d never be sure of which way to go, but he’d only traveled a half mile, at most, inland, and as long as he walked north or west, he’d find the shore. Eventually he thought he’d recognize some of the forest he’d past. So he made his best guess after a long contemplation and he made his way towards somewhere.

  
As he walked, he tried to skulk as much as he could with his leg. Upon landing, his biggest danger was hunger and thirst, but with those now quenched, he was sure there would be another threat somewhere. He walked through the brush, dirk in hand, marking trees so he’d be able to find his way back, if need be. He thought he’d recognize the forest as he walked back through it, but it seemed to have changed. The colors of the leaves shifted from a teal to a dark emerald, the bright yellows and reds all darkened. It seemed as if the colors set with the sun. As he moved and time passed, the sunlight became fainter. It seemed he was traveling toward it, but how far off course, he could not tell.

  
With each bush he passed and tree he marked, he became more and more uneasy. Darkness would be upon him soon, and his plan was to build something. How could he with no light? It’s not like he was smart enough to start a torch with the fire he’d made, or keep the flint rock for that matter. When he reached the debris, he’d have to search quickly and make do. If he reached it.

  
Twenty marked trees later, he smelled the sea. I just hope I’m not too far from where I landed. He remembered the shape of the cove and how it curved making a small bay. So the wreckage should have stayed ashore even after the tides changed.

  
Before long, he could see the edge of the forest. Back to the beginning. As he approached the end of the vines and the start of the sand, he could see the sun setting across the horizon. The sky glowed amber and indigo, and he stopped mid step to take it in. A sailor most his life, he had seen thousands of sunsets. None were ever a vibrant as this. As the burning ball dipped down into the water, he could feel his old life setting as well. Gone would be the days when he lived as “Har of the Harbor”, a fake name anyway. He’d never have to hear the word Snow. He’d likely never see the stuff either. No, on this island, he’d be who he wanted. Prey, at times. Predator others. Scared and courageous. Cautious and adventurous. He was no poorer or richer than anything else here. Not low born or base born, just born. As the sun set on the life that he knew, he contemplated the life he would soon live. His first day had built his confidence enough for him to hope. But he’d likely never see Westeros ever again. He’d likely never see people ever again. All he could do was live. And he had never been happier to be alive.  
When his feet crossed into the sand, he searched the horizon for the shore and his wreckage. He had traveled to the right place, more or less, and although the alcove wasn’t directly in front of him, he recognized the rock formations and knew he wasn’t too far.

  
He moved quickly, the sun slowly setting in front of him a constant reminder of the impending darkness about to descend. He adjusted his plan. After searching, he’d look for a cavern or cave to hold up in. At least nothing could take him from behind. As he neared the shore, waves crashed, the white foam pushing driftwood up the sands into piles. He studied the wreckage from afar. Everything he owned was aboard that ship. He couldn’t help but think, now that he looked at it from a distance, his everything was nothing, really. Especially now, broken and shattered.

  
He approached the far edge where debris was washing ashore and figured it best to make one pass through it in one search and be done with it. Though he hoped he’d find use of some of his past, he did not want to linger with it. Best to make quick use of a few things and move on. Before predators were at his back.  
Driftwood made poor firewood, so all the smallest pieces would have to dry before he’d carry them anywhere. He was looking through the remnants of crates to see if he could find food or cloths or the tent. Everything he found though only reminded him of how he’d gotten here. Nothing was useful. His trip to his past only served to wound the confidence he’d won fighting a turtle and fish. I stand triumphant in my mind while my failure is laid out in pieces plain to see.  
Half way around the cove he thought he heard something. He turned toward the trees, scanning the edges for movement. He even looked where he had seen the purple eyed monkey earlier. Nothing. That I can see. The hairs on the back of his neck stood but he continued the search nonetheless.

  
Pieces were all that he found. Pieces of things once valuable, but smashed and shattered. It was all rubbish. A few crates washed ashore intact, but when he’d open them, the water had ruined its contents. One was a box full of sugar, or what was once sugar. The bags remained, but the sea water mixed with its contents and turned it into a foul smelling stew. Salt and sugar sounded like a combination he’d find in a Qartheen market or on a Braavosi pleasure barge, but not mixed with the stench of the sea. He dumped it into the surf for the fish, but he could neither enjoy its taste nor trade it for something else.

  
Crouching, he could feel the sun starting to dip down into the water beyond. The ambers and indigos darkened, as did everything around him. A quarter mile of debris remained, yet he had given up hope on his search. He continued nonetheless. Nothing better to do. But his heart was no longer in it.  
As his hands shuffled cracked wood around in front of him, he heard the same noise from before, only louder and more clearly. It was more moan than growl. More words than sounds. Survivors. There must be someone else.

  
His voice caught in his throat as he begun to shout. It had been days since he’d used it “Hello! Is there anyone here?”  
“Uhh,” was all he heard, more like an exhale than a reply.

  
Gazing at the surf, he looked for the sound’s origin. Twenty yards away, a pile of debris shifted before the tide pushed it back and forth. He ran to it. The sun almost halfway set to his left. He reached the debris and threw it off its captive.

  
He looked at the man’s face. It was swollen and peeling from exposure to the sun. His skin, already dark, was a crisp shade of brown as dark as he’d ever seen a man’s skin. It wasn’t one of his regular crew. The man was one of the Summer Islanders he’d hired to help bring his new wares aboard his ship. They would’ve helped him unload his ship and seek work for another trader making their way back east. It was the life of many a Summer Islander. Shipwrecked and left for dead, this was also many times the death of one too.

  
“Man, are you alive? Are you hurt?” he asked, not knowing what to say. Of course he was alive. He had just heard him making noises. And of course he was hurt, he’d just washed ashore from a ship wreck.

  
The man gave no reply, only managing another moan.

  
“Here. Eat these. I’ve tasted them already and they will not kill you. They haven’t killed me yet and it must’ve been mid morning when I found them.” He reached out with a berry from his leaf pouch in his hands. The man made no movement toward him, only opening his mouth as if he wished to be fed.

  
He placed the first in his mouth gently, remembering all too well the exact state the man was in. The man looked worse off than he had when he’d landed though. His skin was flaky, his body gaunt, his eyes swollen and puffy. After chewing the first berry, the man turned his head toward him and opened his mouth again, like a baby bird.

  
“What is your name, my friend?” He asked the man before giving him the second berry.

  
“Xenus,” he whispered. Then he opened his mouth for another berry.

  
“Never thought a berry would taste so damn good, did ya, Xenus?” He wanted to introduce himself, but he didn’t know who he’d say he was. He didn’t ever decide on it.

  
Xenus swallowed the second and tried to open his eyes. The puffs pointed towards him, but he could barely see the eyes, themselves. “Water,” the words escaped his mouth with less than a whisper. They had both the inflexion of a question and the urgency of an order.

  
“In due time. Water requires much work, and unfortunately we do not have the time. Sea water can be boiled and enjoyed, but not until we see you to your feet. Up, friend, up, up, up.” He grabbed Xenus by the hands and tried to usher the man to his feet. There was less life in him than expected, Xenus’ legs flopped wearily as he struggled to bring him to his feet. Xenus’ arms felt as if they’d snap if he continued to pull him up. So, he gently placed him back down and squatted to grab better hold of him. He scooped him up from underneath and picked him up like an infant, his long gaunt limbs dangling lifelessly. The only part of Xenus that seemed alive was his open baby bird mouth.

  
He carried Xenus past the tide and placed him down gently out of the surf. The sun had almost set, and with another man to shelter, he’d have to figure out somewhere to spend the night soon, or they’d both be something’s food. There were rocks at the edge of the alcove that jutted up beyond the tide. They were jagged and most likely cold at night, but there would be little way for a predator to sneak up on them. If he was lucky, he’d find a cave or a crevasse they could use for the night, but first he’d have to look.

  
“Xenus, I have to find us shelter. I will be back very soon. Here. Take these. Eat them all if you’d like. Just don’t drink the sea water.”  
He left Xenus and moved briskly to the rocks. He searched for a mere minutes before a small opening looked promising enough. It had coverage above and depth enough to walk into. If he started a fire, he’d be sure to draw some form of life in. He hoped there were no savage natives to contend with. And if there were animals willing to give him a fight, he felt strong enough after his small meal and drink.

  
He raced back to his companion, time and sunlight running low. Xenus had eaten all the berries, but if the berries weren’t gone, there’d be no way to know he had even moved. He could tell the life was gradually coming back to him, but a few berries would still leave him near death. He’d have to drink water or he’d die.  
With Xenus in his arms, he walked as quickly as his legs could take him, one being injured. He had almost forgotten his run in with the killer fish. The pain didn’t even bother him. He wondered if that was a good sign or bad. No time. He thought. He’d have plenty of time to ponder after they’d set up their shelter for the night.

  
The last bit of the sun peered over the water. The twilight gave him just enough time to find a few dry branches and leaves for the fire. He searched for a stone to strike for a spark, and found a rough grey fractured piece from the rocks they now inhabited. He brought them to their hole, set everything in place, and started striking the rock with his dirk.

  
After a hundred or so strikes, he finally got the leaves lit. Blowing, he fanned the flame, and as it rose, the branches caught. The fire flickered in the breeze coming of the water. After it burned long enough that he knew it would keep, he ventured into the darkness with his turtle shell, to gather some water for Xenus.  
The moon lit the scene with a dim blue light. The waves glistened, swaying softly with a gentle tide. The sand looked a cool gray. The dirk back in its sheath, he was armed only with the turtle shell. He made his way to the water’s edge and dipped the shell in. Once filled, he walked carefully back to their camp, trying not to spill.

  
He didn’t remember if you could boil sea water and drink it, but if Xenus didn’t drink, he’d die, and there was no way anyone could make it to the pool and back in the pitch black. The moon lit up the coast well enough, but as he looked into the forest, the greens, yellow, and reds that had shifted colors during the day were only jet black. Only yellow specks were noticeable in the darkness. Opening and closing. Darting back and forth. All the specks were tiny, yet they still seemed as ominous as the trees swaying earlier.

  
As the water boiled, he nudged Xenus awake. He wasn’t as much asleep as he was dying, but there was water now, and he’d have to drink it. As he roused his companion, he thought of the prayers he’d said in the ocean. For life. For death. He wondered which side Xenus was on.

  
“Open up, my friend. Water.” With the words, Xenus turned toward him. He didn’t try to open his puffy eyes, but his baby bird mouth opened, gradually. It stopped halfway, as if his jaw had rusted and stuck. He poured it into the man’s mouth, slowly, knowing he couldn’t spill a drop. After seeing, the yellow specks, his courage faded and he wanted no part of wandering away from the fire for more water. After Xenus gulped once, he raised his bony hands to the shell, tilting it up, increasing the flow, spilling some on his face and jaw as he gulped wildly. The water gone he turned his head to him, “More?” his tone this time merely a question.

  
“Sorry, mate. Not until the morrow. When the sun’s up, we’ll get water and food. Rest now. We can make it through the night.”  
Without protest, the Summer Islander rolled over and went back to sleep. Or continued to die. He hoped the water would bring new life to Xenus, like it had him, but Xenus looked so much worse off than he had when he’d washed ashore, he might not last the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter really gets into Harwin coming to terms with the loss of his previous life.
> 
> We don't know yet how he became a captain of his own vessel (which is important) and we don't know what he is so guilty about, but we do know he's lost everything and has to start over in a completely new and savage world.
> 
> Let me know what you think, if you'd be so kind, and keep reading. I promise you it gets both faster paced and will answer all the questions you have.
> 
> HS


	3. Chapter 3

3  
Blackness surrounded him. Thick dark nothing he could feel on his skin, cold and heavy. The dark filled his nostrils and lungs, weighing his chest down like an anchor. He sank. Into a dark still pool of jet black water. It had neither sea nor pond taste. Nothing. As his feet and legs descended, he could feel the bitter slicing cold, instant frostbite, his body dissolving into . . .

  
Jarred awake, he reached for his dirk. He wasn’t the only one. His hand touched Xenus’, the dirk’s hilt in his bony grip. Xenus pulled away, the morning sun, a small tip peeking from behind the tree tops, a faint beam starting to illuminate the beach. Xenus was on one knee, dirk in hand, raised, his right arm flexed. Har lunged away to his right, parrying the stab from his companion with his left hand. When his leg pushed off the rock, he felt one of the smaller bites open. Xenus came back with a slash towards him, left to right. The blade whirred in the ocean breeze. He leaned back far enough to avoid the slash, and with his right hand, grabbed the attacker’s right, stopping the back handed slash before Xenus could swing it. Xenus dropped the dirk, catching it with the other hand and lunged. He was too close. Still holding Xenus’ hand, he lunged back, but the dirk caught him just above his left nipple. Har spun, landing his left elbow into Xenus’ nose and whirling behind his attacker, dodging another back handed swipe. He lifted his knee into Xenus back, where his spine ended, and followed it with a downward strike from his right elbow into the base of Xenus skull. The man fell, dropping the dirk. Har stepped to the Summer Islander, both going for the dirk. Har kicked it away, recoiling and swinging his same leg back into the face of his companion.

  
“What is the meaning of this? I saved you. I brought you berries and water.”

  
“You have brought me death, ser. Curse you and your kin for all time. Xenus was father. Sons also on ser’s ship. And now, all are dead and Xenus will die amongst the demons you brought upon us. You should have never sailed to Ashaii. All that you are now is the host for the damned. She will see that you burn forever. Your sins damn us all to the hottest of hells. Kill me now, ser, or die. This hell is not meant for life.” He lunged again, no weapon in hand, just fury and malice in his puffy eyes. They were red. And with a cry like a war chant, “Ay yi yi!” he swung his tiny arm at Har’s face.

  
Har bobbed his head aside, grabbed the man’s arm with his right while it was fully extended. With his left, he struck through his elbow, breaking the arm in two, spun again around behind his foe. With both hands he grabbed the man’s head and twisted. Thwip. And with a crack, the man’s body fell limp.  
Shame. He thought. It would’ve been nice to talk to someone other than myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many times during this work, I try to use dreams, as Martin does, and I hope they are effective.
> 
> Hopefully you didn't get too attached to Xenus. Speaking of attached, the next chapter can be very gory, so be fore warned.
> 
> Thanks again. Let me know what you think.
> 
> HS


	4. Chapter 4

4  
Xenus’ words haunted him for the rest of the day. He kept going back to the rash decision he made, for gold and glory, for destiny and nobility. Ashaii was never part of the original plan. Their voyage was to go as far as Qarth and return to the Harbor before the trade winds shifted. In Qarth, a red priestess approached him ranting and raving of, “the power of fire,” and, “the blood of old Valyria,” and, “destiny.” If we had just made our way back, none of this would have happened. They would all be still alive.

  
Guilt hid in his heart, behind the immediate needs since he’d landed on the beach. Struggling to find food and water kept him from thinking of anything other than living. Xenus’ twisted dead body, limp and lifeless on the sand in front of him, his eyes and baby bird mouth still open, was the physical embodiment of the guilt he had managed to avoid. “What have I done?” he said aloud. Was he talking to dead Xenus or himself? He did not know. All he knew is that now, with no one to talk to, and a sobering reminder, he’d have to contend with his own thoughts alone. On an island that meant to kill him.

  
Before the journey began, in White Harbor, he’d laid out maps with his first mate and best friend Lem discussing the course, its ports, provisions they’d need, provisions they’d take on, space for wares, prices they’d set, contingency plans if circumstances changed, and even who to bring on the voyage. The plan, in essence, was to hop from one port to the next, trading castle forged steel, furs, and giant crabs from the North with stops in Braavos, then Pentos, then Tyrosh, then through the Step Stones, then to Lys, then Volantis where they would take on extra crew and sail around Old Valyria to Qarth, then back to Volantis, then to King’s Landing.

  
Already he’d made the journey 3 times. Once as a boy of ten, once as a boy of fourteen, and once as a man grown at seven-and ten. Each port would buy and trade for the wares of the previous port, and he had a knack for always coming out on top of a trade. He left Volantis with a tiger. “Surplus in one port means profit in the next.” So he traded that tiger in Qarth for its weight in gold. On that one trade, he and all his crew would be wealthy for the rest of their lives. But drunk with success, the words of the priestess roused a greed in him. “The top of the World,” he thought, “To mount the dragon seat,” he heard. “Below the shadow you must go, for ice and fire seek to know.”

  
Xenus’ body was all that was left of his trade bounty. That and the dirk. Xenus’ eyes were still red. Not blood shot, full red. The color of the gem on the priestess’ neck.

  
He wouldn’t eat a man, no matter how hungry. He might have landed on an island of cannibals, for all he knew, but he would never go that far. Bugs were one thing. People another. What little honor he had left, he would save from that. There was a use for the corpse, however. He didn’t like it, but he knew he’d need to eat again soon, and he’d lost the scraps from the fish and the turtle from yesterday.

  
He grabbed Xenus by the hands and pulled him off the rocks. Jagged edges tore at the carcass, one cut opening his leg. Dark black liquid seeped out in a slow steady stream. The black trail followed the body as he pulled it, even staining the sand.

  
Such a struggle to drag such a haggard man. Dragging him through the beach proved too hard to continue. His body would plow deep into the sharp brown sand. As he pulled, his eyes stared at him. He flipped the body over and continued for a short ways, but looking back at the forest edge, the vines and leaf carpet would be even harder to pull him through. And covered in blood, Har wanted no part of carrying Xenus like he had done the night before. He’d have to lighten the load.  
Among the debris, he remembered the sacks of sugar. He had dumped the bags, but didn’t keep them. He didn’t know what he’d need them for. He knew now.  
A smaller load would be more manageable to carry back to his pool. He would fish for the killer fish again, but without a line, hook, or netting, he’d have to improvise.

  
Grabbing the sacks, he also doubled back through the wreckage to find anything he could use for a rope. A few hempen pieces floated, ragged around broken crates and driftwood. He had rushed the previous night, trying to beat the sunset, and missed three sections of rope he could use for something. He gathered the ropes and the sacks and returned to Xenus’ corpse.

  
He butchered many a fish, elk, even a seal, but this wasn’t butcher’s work. This was murderer’s. There is no easy way to cut a human body into smaller pieces. Every joint is connected with thick cartilage and tissue that requires hard work to separate. Maesters, in times of dire need, or torturers in other times, would sever limbs with saws, working back and forth with serrated teeth. All he had was the dirk.

  
The sacks were too small to hold his torso. He’d separate the head, arms, and legs if he could, and use them for bait in the pool. He would set a crab trap near the shore with the torso. He didn’t want to be wasteful.

  
Dirk in hand, standing over the man he had just killed, he contemplated where to start, and if he were becoming a monster. The head would be easiest, but he’d start with the arm, figuring he’d try to separate it at the shoulder.

  
He gripped the arm by the wrist, feeling the cold skin made his own skin crawl. He pushed the dirk into the shoulder joint, spilling more dark thick blood. He pushed it all the way through and tried to pry off the arm with leverage against the shoulder bone. He bent at the hilt, the blade through and out the back, and tried to wedge the arm free. It wouldn’t be that easy.

  
He took it out, and pushed it back in. Took it out, and in. All the way out, all the way in. The blade was straight and the sawing motion didn’t help cut. He would just move the dirk into a different position and push it through, most times to the sounds of cracks and squishes, crushing the cartilage and slicing the skin and tendons. Eventually, the arm hung by a thin chord, and frustrated he yanked the arm free with a pop.

  
He retched, holding the arm in his hand, dark black blood everywhere. He was still in the sand, which stuck to everything as well. And after he’d lost his stomach, he didn’t know if he had the strength to continue. An arm will be enough. But he didn’t want to quit. He had made a logical plan and he’d see it through. Strength and will were his currency in this new world. And he would never be poor again.

  
He stuffed the arm in the first sack. It was awkward. He tried to fold it at the elbow so it wouldn’t stick out, but a man’s arm does not listen when it’s not attached. Especially to a stranger. Especially one who’d broken it and cut it off. After struggling with it and almost retching again, he just put it in, straight, leaving the hand sticking out, its palm open, as if he were waving hello.

  
Before he continued dismembering, he wanted to sharpen his blade. The dirk had already killed the turtle and the fish, started two fires, cleaned the food, cut his own flesh, closed the wounds, marked the trees, and severed the arm. It was the only steel he had, his only protection, and he needed to keep it sharp and strong. Sharpening the knife would also delay cutting Xenus’ head off, which seemed just as good of a reason to do it.

  
As he sharpened the blade, he remembered the cut Xenus left him. He was reminded as it started to sting. His tunic was crusty with blood and the remnants from his dive in the pool, and the course material irritated the cut and raw skin. It wasn’t a deep cut, but as it itched him, he feared it would become infected. After sharpening the blade on his new flint stone, he figured he’d address the wound. Another delay which didn’t seem to contrived.

  
Gathered wood. Started fire. Boiled water. Cleaned wound. Heated blade. Closed wound. Done. Now back to the body.

  
After two delays, Xenus began to smell. The one-armed husk lied face down in the sand, his legs splayed incoherently. His spine was bent in a way that made him seem less human and more driftwood. His bones were a collection of debris, washed ashore, in a random pile, disjointed and falling apart. Har stepped to his victim to continue the bloody business.

  
He grabbed Xenus with his left hand by the short tail of braided hair that poked out from the back of his head. The hair was thick and course, greasy from the sea and death sweat. He pulled the head back, its face still looking away from him. With the dirk in right hand, he pressed down on the body’s left shoulder with his left foot and pulled up on the hair. He aimed for the base of the skull and slashed, hoping the score a clean slice inches into the skin. He hit his mark, blood spattered and spilled, but much less as most had already poured out, and he slashed again. Again. Again. As he pulled the hair up, he felt the slack he created as the skin was removed. Some started to peel away from bone as he continued to pull up, slashing. Slashing. “You have brought me death, ser! Curse you and your kin for all time!”

  
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Har replied. The voices were louder than the hacks. “I’m sorry,” with every additional hack. Tears welled up in his eyes, his arm still hacking, the neck looked more a ham hock than part of a human. Greed and glory. Destiny. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry to you all.  
He could see the crews faces, the look in their eyes as the foam pulled them into the depths. Lem’s face. He was not a yard away from him when it happened. He could hear the sounds of the wreck, wood exploding, water rushing, but he couldn’t hear his crews’ voices. He could only see their faces. Their eyes. So many lost. For so little a reason.

  
When they had reached Ashaii, he didn’t even know what he was there for. The priestess had enchanted his ego, building him up as royalty. In the moment, he’d remembered the stories of his father, the prince, the valiant warrior. His entire life he’d heard nothing but, “bastard,” and, “bastard’s bastard.” Whether said in jest or as an insult, it always cut the same. Hearing this beautiful reddened priestess, propping him up as an heir to the throne, “a symbol of ice and fire”, validated his entire journey. Inside, he wanted to be special. She told him he was. So he listened.

  
A hack snapped through, the head jolted up once free. It dangled from the braid as he held it as far away from his body as he could. It spun in his hand, Xenus’ face turned toward him. “Xenus was father. Sons also on ser’s ship. And now, all are dead and Xenus will die amongst the demons you brought upon us.”  
Shut up! I’m sorry.

  
“You should have never sailed to Ashaii.”

  
He stuffed the head in a different bag. He had to get it out of his hands. Out of his head.

  
The rest of the morning consisted of hacking, gagging, and stuffing. Both arms dangled out of one bag. He tried the leg a few ways. He wouldn’t start at the hips or groin. They were too thick, for one. Also, he wanted nothing to do with Xenus’ dead manhood. He started at mid thigh with one, but the bone was too thick for the dirk. He tried to snap it with his leg, which worked eventually, but it was too much. Again, he needed to be strong. He needed to will through it, but as he stuffed the severed leg into the last bag, he decided there was no more room for another. The remaining leg would have to stay.

  
Looks like you’re on your last leg, Xenus. He chuckled to himself. Nothing was funny, but the sun and circumstances were getting to him. Smiling, he felt as if he was losing his mind.

  
He dragged the body past the high tide, and set up a makeshift crab trap with driftwood and the rope sections he’d found. Xenus was the bait. He’d journey into the jungle, to his pool, and use the rest.

  
Following the marks on the trunks, he started to get his bearings. Life at sea had honed his navigational skills, and navigating land was no different. Landmarks. Spatial awareness. He could see a quarter mile with his naked eye, and estimate relatively accurately how far he’d been or needed to go. Counting paces always worked, but he needed to be aware of his surroundings, and counting would potentially distract him long enough to die. In a place like this, any step could be his last.

  
Creeping through the brush, he reached the pool at midday. The sun, hidden through the trees, was directly above him. He wasn’t sure his plan would work, but his stomach moaned at him. Retching on the beach had left him empty again. If his plan worked, he might sleep with a full belly tonight.

  
First, he’d boil some water to drink. He had no container to keep water in, so he’d have to get his fill for the day now. It also gave him some time to stall. He was about to fish with the arms, legs, and head of a dead man. He had time. He drank three turtle shells.

  
Hydrated, he approached the water’s edge carefully, remembering how deep it was, even at the bank. The water was as murky as the day before. He’d been attacked within seconds of hitting the water, so he felt confident the fish would bite.

  
He put down the sugar bags, the legs and arms still peeking out. Xenus right hand still open, waving. He pulled the leg out of its bag and held it by the foot. He dipped the cut end, still bleeding, into the dark water. Within an instant, he felt weight on the end, pulsating, biting. He slowly pulled the leg to the water’s edge, the fish still biting. Then, he whipped the leg to the side, throwing a killer fish onto the bank.

  
It flopped around for a second. He ran over to it and stomped, aiming for the head, but crushing the body. The fish stopped flopping, but its mouth continued to move up and down. It twitched, twitched again, then continued its mouth. Its bottom jaw kept moving. Up and down. Up and down, as if it were talking. The fish was cursing him too. Not for sailing to Ashaii and leading him to his doom, but he knew from the look in its eyes the fish hated him. I hate you too, fish. He unsheathed his dirk and stabbed its head. He picked it up and stashed it in the empty sugar bag.

  
He used the leg for another four fish. A few times he whipped the leg and the fish let go, but every time the leg dipped in the water, another fish was on it in seconds. After the fourth fish, the cut end of the leg was nothing but fleshy strings, or stringy flesh. He wasn’t sure which was more appropriate, but it was disgusting. The foul smell of dead man mixed with the foul smell of still water and eventually the leg looked as if, both water logged and decomposing, it had reached the limit of its usefulness. He had hoped to use it as long as he could, but with four fish in one bag, and two arms and a head left, he felt comfortable moving on the next body part.

  
The arms were even easier, although the elbow joint was sometimes difficult to control, especially a broken one. He held each arm like a fishing pole; holding the wrist, fingers pointing toward the ground, the elbow bending down so the shoulder dipped into the water. A few times he held the meat just above the water to see if the fish would jump out to bite it. One did, but it surprised Har and when he whipped the arm to try to fling the fish out, he splashed his face with a mixture of Xenus juice and pool water, just as he had finally adjusted to the horror of what he was doing. He almost retched again.

  
All told, he caught thirteen fish in total. Each was about the same size. He’d used the leg and both arms, each bitten to pieces, rotten, and water logged. He decided to chuck them into the pool, feeding the rest of the fish. I’m sorry.

  
The head remained in the bag. He did not want to fish with it or throw it in. He did not want to bring it back, but he couldn’t just leave it somewhere. Anytime he saw the face, he’d hear the words it spoke before it attacked. “All that you are now is the host for the damned. She will see that you burn forever.”

  
Back and forth, his mind tussled with the ideas of contempt for the attacker and pity for the father. Disdain for the ungrateful survivor and guilt for the obedient crew member. The head symbolized his betrayal. He betrayed all those who counted on him for the vain pursuit of his own destiny. A destiny that was promised, but he could never receive. Was this his destiny? King of the manless jungle. Heir to a pool of fish and bay of driftwood. Sovereign over all that meant to kill him.  
The head had to go. He decided he’d try fishing for two more then let the fish keep it. He easily caught two more, stashed the fish in the bag, and dropped Xenus into the thick blackness.

  
His trip back was lighter. It was more fearful with a bag full of dead fish in a jungle of gods knew what, but he wasn’t encumbered by limbs and a head. He trekked back to the beach, a familiar trip to him by now, and wondered if his crab trap had worked.

  
It did to some extent. Crabs covered the corpse from leg to stump, stump, and stump, but the driftwood didn’t trap them in as much as it covered sections to keep fresh. It stunk worse than he’d ever smelt a shore, the funk of the ocean did not mix well with the gagging aroma that rose from the dead man’s husk.  
He grabbed another bag and ran to the crab pile, snatching a few as the rest scurried away. As soon as he walked away, the crabs creeped back and he would repeat. With only a few slices on his hands, he gathered the crabs with little incident and twisted the top of the bag closed. With a downward force, he swung the bag into a nearby rock, cracking and crushing the crabs, so he could avoid any more cuts.

  
Bags full of fish and crabs, he proudly returned to the cave from last night to start another fire. He was getting the hang of starting them by now. It had a certain rhythm to it, almost musical. Within a few flicks, a spark. He fanned it with his breath. Flames rose.

  
After flaying and cooking the fish, he folded a broad leaf around the cooked fish pieces to save for another day. He took each crab, poked a thin stick through its mouth and out the back, and cooked the crab, whole, until it was a dark red. As they cooked, he heard the juices inside popping. When the eyes popped, he knew they were ready.

  
As he cracked the shells and sucked the meat out of each crab, he thought of his next move. With a full belly, extra food, dirk, flint stone, turtle shell and sacks, he felt he could abandon his shore accommodations and venture out further into the forest. There was nothing of value left in the wreckage and it only served as a reminder of where he’d been. Once he’d finished sucking the meat out of the last crab leg, he stamped out his fire, packed his new world belongings, and said goodbye to what was left of Xenus.

  
As his past lay broken on the beach, he turned his back to it. Forward. Onward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter tries to set up the brutality of this new world, and the lengths in which Harwin will go to survive. Xenus works both as a visceral reminder of the sometimes gory reality of the World of Ice and Fire, and symbolizes the guilt and renewal of Harwin.
> 
> Let me know what you think. Sorry if it was too gross. I know I lose people here. Trust me, this isn't SAW or some kind of weird murder porn thing moving forward. But the stakes and situation is clear. For Harwin to survive Sothoryos, everything is on the table (except cannibalism I guess, but Xenus' dismemberment is either as bad or worse than if Harwin were to just eat him, so there's that.)
> 
> Thanks again for reading and don't give up. Or do. I just don't want you to.
> 
> HS


	5. Chapter 5

5  
The forest expanded as far as he could imagine. The colors of the trees and brush made for an amusing hike through the new world. There was much more evidence of life as he continued deeper into the forest. He saw monkeys swinging above him, vine to vine. They looked like the one with the purple eyes. When the trees moved as they swung, he could tell it wasn’t them he had heard the first day. The trees barely moved.

  
There were small frogs the size of a hand, speckled with black and splattered with vibrant colors. He saw a snake or two, but they were too shy and slithered away as soon as they heard his steps. There were colorful birds with queer shaped beaks. But of all the life in the woods, it was the insects that made the most impact.

  
Flies with huge green and black eyes bit him incessantly. Lines of blood trickled down his arms and legs, like thin red ribbons. The gnats hovered around his eyes, blurring his vision. Occasionally, one would fly into his eye and he’d have to rub it out. There were gnats everywhere in the known world. They always seemed to find him in ports and harbors, but these things were different. Relentless. They were the size of Westerosi horseflies and swarmed in groups so large, they became a moving pesky fog. He’d kill ten with a smack to his own face, and not a moment later it seemed there were even more. He tried not to think about them, but he couldn’t walk with his eyes closed, so he squinted, trying his best to keep them out.

  
He saw different trees. Tall ones. Thick ones. Some were so large, he couldn’t see their tops which poked well past the canopy. He stood next to one and hugged it to test the girth. He regretted it instantly. The sap coated his palms, the inside of his arms, and the cheek he pressed against it. That just made the gnats worse, and it left him feeling raw and sticky.

  
An hour or two in, he noticed the beams of light behind him. The sun was making its way down. It would set in short order. He hadn’t planned what he’d do once it got dark, but he still had hours to go until then. He figured he’d find a tree to climb or a ditch to dig. One night in this wilderness built a confidence in him that kept him from worry. He tried to enjoy the day. His new life. King of nothing.

  
In the distance he heard huge noises. They sounded like war or thunder, huge cracks and terrible booms. He walked towards them. As he drew closer, the sounds were louder and the ground shook. No animals could make such a noise. Were there people here? Could they help? Would they?

  
He approached as stealthy as he could, skulking through the growth, taking cover behind trees and bushes. From a distance, he could see the commotion. There were men clearing trees. They were traders! And they could bring him back. Maybe I don’t have to die here.

  
He felt compelled to yell out to them, Hello! Its me! A Person! Save me! But he thought of his rashness and contemplated his options. If they mean to kill me, they will. If they mean to save me, they’ll ask a price. If they are natives, they won’t understand me and kill me. If they’re slavers, they’ll enslave me.

  
Given his options, he had little choice other than to stay hidden. He decided he’d sneak up on whoever it was, study them, figure them out, and then decide if he should attempt to make contact.

  
He approached the noises cautiously, looping around into a dense thick brush for better cover. He couldn’t make out their faces, however their bodies appeared queer from this distance. He didn’t know if they were painted or wearing skins, but their arms, legs, and chests were grey and black, almost like a zorse. They held enormous stone axes in hands that looked more like paws, swinging them with such force, the trunks exploded away more than they were cut. The sheer force in which each blow hit sent as much a vibration into the ground as when the trees fell.

  
And these people were huge. Each stood at least seven foot, bound with thick muscle and thicker hair. They didn’t even appear to be men from afar. Almost like the Ibbaneese he’d seen in White Harbor.

  
As he got closer, he started noticing their faces. They were ugly. Wide sloping foreheads jutted out and over beady deep set eyes. Their brow was one thick line across the center of their head. Their noses were flat and upturned, like hogs or apes, and their jaw poked out well past their lips. When they spoke, their language was harsh and guttural, grunting more than speaking, and their bottom jaw closed in front of their top. These were not men. These were beasts.  
He dared not get any closer. He’d stay in the brush and either retreat or carry on further, but he wanted to watch them, curious, like he’d been as a boy in White Harbor, staring at the foreigners.

  
They continued to lop down tree after tree, felling a large section of the forest. Each time a tree fell, a column of six to ten beasts would carry the tree off on their shoulders. Huge trees with broad colorful leaves looked like spears on their shoulders. Each time a team left with one tree, another team returned shortly for another. They worked diligently and intelligently, looking to one specific beast for instruction.

  
The foreman wore a pelt on his head. It looked like some tropical jungle cat, golden tan with sleek fur and bronze circled spots. The cats face opened around the face of the beast man, teeth still in its jaws, as the beast man shouted grunts and pointed with his rippling hairy arms. His chest was painted with a white chevron and surrounded by white circles. It could signify his station. Even naked, though, none could deny this was their leader.

  
Tree after tree fell swing by swing. Closer up, Har was in awe at the strength in which each ax hit. Each swing dented the tree so deeply, cracks would appear on the opposite side. One time around, chunks of bark and trunk would fly away and they’d knock the tree down with a final blow.

  
Their axes were each topped with stones. The stones were shaped similarly, as if they were quarried and formed. One end was more pointed, thinned, blunt. There was no edge. They used the thin end to dent the tree on the first pass around. The other end was broad, thick, and just as blunt. They used the broad side for the finishing blow.

  
Each beast worked with precision. This was their trade, their livelihood. And they were all proficient at it.

  
Where are they taking these trees? Har would follow them to see. The beasts couldn’t cut trees all day, and the sun was past mid day he could see with the clearing from the removed trees. He’d have four or five hours until sundown. Pretty soon, the natives would have to call it a day. But I’ll need shelter. And they’re not likely to invite me to meat and mead.

  
Har waited about an hour watching the beasts work. It gave him time to race his mind through the recent past he’d been able to avoid struggling to survive.  
What land is this? He thought.

  
Upon departing Asshaii, empty handed, they had sailed through the Jade Sea and just past the island of Lesser Moraq before charting their course to Volantis.  
Then, the ship was destroyed.

  
All the navigation he had done as a younger man, boy even, mentioned the lands of New Ghis, the Basilisk Isles, and Naath, but this land didn’t fit.  
New Ghis would’ve been too far north. Their charted course passed under the island of Lesser Moraq and couldn’t have brought them there.  
The Basilisk Isles and Naath were too West. They hadn’t made much progress after Lesser Moraq and both those Islands were a thousand miles or more West. They couldn’t have made it more than a few hundred miles past Lesser Moraq, if even that.

  
The Summer Islanders used to talk of an uncharted continent south of Valyira, Sothoryos. On previous voyages, many Summer Islanders had claimed heroes of their culture ventured there for conquest, only to find savage inhospitable lands that spit out any civilization that tried to stay. He’d heard of the Ghiscari traveling to this place for slaves in eons past, but never heard much in the ports of New Ghis. He’d also heard of legends about the settlements Old Valyria established there, only to be chased away by natives or plague. But to most Westerosi captains, the land of Sothoryos was like the Thousand Islands in the Shivering Sea, or the lands of Essos beyond the Grey Waste. Mythical places too far to worry over.

  
Only one Westerosi captain had ever been there, Eustace Hightower, when he’d accompanied Elissa Farman on her journey attempting to cross the Sunset Sea. After trouble in a storm, he turned back East, aiming for and missing the Summer Isles and accidentally landing on the shores of Sothoryos. Upon returning to Oldtown, three years after departing with Farman, his account of the land was a horror, losing more than half his crew to illness or unknown circumstances in which he did not elaborate or care to discuss. The cargo he’d brought back was valuable, to be sure, but Eustace Hightower wanted nothing of the glory of finding the new land and cautioned any other mariner to stay far away.

  
He hadn’t thought of that story until just now, the beasts hauling another tree away. Of all the likely places this new world could be, it seemed most likely this was Sothoryos, the land too dangerous to ever venture to. He was now stuck here.

  
The foreman began to shout something urgent. He wound his arms in circles and pointed with the other hand grunting something that sounded like, “Ook ahk laan!” over and over. The ax swingers gave a quick look, swung once or twice more, and seemed to cease work for the day. They swung their huge blunt axes unto their shoulders and made their way due South, away from where the trees were being hauled. Three more fallen trees remained on the ground. The foreman hurried the returning carrying crew toward the left overs and cursed loudly, his face souring. His tone seemed harsh before. Somehow, now, it was even harsher. Spit sprayed from his underbite and thick tongue. His fingers pointed more fervently.

  
Upon the one crew’s departure, another hauling crew arrived to much the same. He took the time to single one hauler out. Gutteral grunts assaulted the workers ears, the foreman leaving little room for air in between the flurry of, “Iss kack ku mahn ex ahk laan,” and similar sounding sentences in the tongue of these natives. The worker’s shoulders hunched, his head hung. Upon finishing his tongue lashing, the foreman stopped, smacked the worker in its face and asked, “Eck ku ku mahn ex ahk laan?”

  
The worker responded, “Kay kahk laan.”

  
The foreman nodded, “Ex kohl ka tuun. Ex kah,” and patted the worker on the shoulder. He turned toward where the ax beasts were leaving toward and shouted something else in his tongue. The speed in which these beasts talked to each other spoke to an obvious intelligence among their kind. They were human-like in many ways, but their enormous size and pelt like hair made them seem more giant than man.

  
The foreman increased his gait to a jog, catching up to one of the ax men. He screamed to the others, already a quarter mile away, beckoning them to return to the worksite. Even though Har knew nothing of the language, he got a sense the foreman was saying something like, “You aren’t done yet. Come back here and get this last tree.”

  
Soon, they returned, strapping their axes around their shoulders so that they hung down their backs. Six of them lifted the last tree onto their shoulders and proceeded in the same direction all the trees had been carried. The look on the faces of the ax swingers was of reluctant obedience. He heard one of them murmur to himself. Har imagined it meant something like, “This isn’t even our job.” That’s what the beast’s face said anyway.

  
The day’s work seemingly complete, Har followed them. Their path stayed close to the jungle’s edge, winding through foot paths from the hauler’s earlier trips. Har crept through the dense forest, well behind the last crew. He stepped carefully, avoiding twigs and fallen branches. As interested as he was, he had no intention on meeting this group of natives. At least not yet, but based on their size and strength, never was also a consideration.

  
He followed for a mile and a half, the sun starting down toward the ground. The trees changed colors at dusk, like they had the day before, the vibrant hues deepening like the forest itself grew tired. How strong these beasts must be to carry trees that size this far.

  
As they reached the jungle’s edge, another shoreline appeared through the brush. The workers in front reached the beach and Har looked for somewhere safe to view them. He wouldn’t break cover, so he looked for higher ground. This beach wasn’t a cove like his had been. There were no jagged crags that rose around the water’s edge. Just a vast shoreline that continued as far as the eye could see.

  
He circled around the workers and stayed at the jungle’s edge near a collection of large rocks and vines. He looked out onto the beach. The workers were delivering the trees to a small fleet of trading ships. Too far away to hear, he saw the foreman talking with a slight, bronze skinned man on horseback with the strange black and red hair of the Ghiscari, oiled into what appeared to be wings sprouting off the sides of his head. They trade with New Ghis.

  
The two spoke back and forth, looking at the trees, then each other. In between sentences they’d take turns laughing at a jest or each other. One sentence ended with the huge foreman chuckling and patting the Ghiscari’s shoulders. The next would have the Ghiscari snickering. It looked as most friendly jests do from afar.  
He wondered what language they spoke. Often times in this part of the world, Valyrian, or some bastard form of it was used so people of different lands could all speak the same. Har had learned enough Valyrian from his times at sea to communicate, so he hoped one or the other would at least understand it crudely, if he ever decided to present himself.

  
He thought of the prospects of revealing himself to each of the two groups. The Ghiscari were known as slavers. He was just as likely to be enslaved as rescued from the man ahorse and he did not wish to tempt that potential fate. Wandering around an unknown dangerous land was hard so far, but slavery in Ghis, New Ghis, or Slaver’s Bay would be hell compared to the respite this land had been for him so far.

  
He thought of approaching the beasts. They seemed intelligent and ambitious enough to form trade with the Ghiscari, so Har imagined they’d be civilized to a certain degree. The problem was their size. If one decided he was anything other than an ally, they’d easily kill him for sure.

  
He decided he’d watch and wait. He knew too little of both parties to put his life in their hands. He seemed to be surviving just fine on his own. So far at least.  
After the beasts loaded the last tree onto the ship, the foreman and Ghiscari shared one more conversation. Har wished he could hear their voices. What else could these two discuss?

  
Both groups departed from the shore, beasts on foot, Ghiscari on boat, seemingly satisfied with the trade deal. He never saw what the Ghiscari offered in return for the trees, but the beasts must have received something for their labor. Otherwise, why wouldn’t the enormous creatures just crush the Ghiscari?

  
The sun was low in the sky when the last of the beasts were out of his sight. He stayed hidden throughout the trade in a dense grove of bushes and tangled roots and vines. The bushes were high enough off the ground to lie beneath without the branches and leaves bothering him too much, so he figured this as good a place as any to camp for the night.

  
He still had a sugar sack he could fill with leaves and grass to make a pillow for his head. He kept the sack he used for the leg. The arm sack had too much blood, so he left it. He feared the head sack might continue Xenus’ conversation with him.

  
The sun almost into the ocean, he foraged. In the brush just into the forest’s edge, he could see the shoreline. He quickly made his pillow and returned to the relative safety of the bushes.

  
The moon appeared, a soft glowing blue beacon dimly illuminating the shore and forest around him. The vibrant colors of the forest in day, hummed with a subtly cool hue in the moonlight. The previous night, he was in the cove, so he didn’t see the forest at night, except for the yellow orbs he’d scene from the distance. Eyes watching the stranger to their world.

  
As the night grew darker around him, he reached into his leaf pouch for some fish. He rationed himself to last three days, eating twice a day with the current amount of food. He could manage the hunger, no doubt, however after another full day with very little water, he knew he’d wake up to a thirst like a drunk in a sept cellar. He thought of how the turtle shell had been useful this far, but how little water it held, and how many times he’d have to boil water to get his fill. Also, with no way of containing the water for later, he’d have to stay close to his pool or find another source.

  
As the dark fully enveloped the forest, he could see life bloom around him. Things started to glow. It wasn’t the moonlight, but creatures emanating cool soft light that bounced from tree to tree. Butterflies and winged insects took to the air below the forest canopy in an aerial display, blue light shimmering with the movements of their wings. It was a sky full of moving stars. He watched the show through the branches and leaves of his bush and smiled.  
He felt his eyes growing heavy. A sudden cool breeze swept over his body. He wished for the cloak he’d slept with through the voyage. The night was still warm enough, but he longed for a worldly comfort, if only for a moment. He never considered himself a man of the city. Not until tonight.  
As his eyes closed, his body curled into itself, his head on his sugar sack pillow, his last thought was of the red woman. As his mind saw her face, his eyes winced, his mouth tightened, and soon he drifted off into a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who are these humanoid beings?
> 
> You will find out much more.
> 
> HS


	6. Chapter 6

6  
The snap of a nearby twig startled him awake. He suspected that would be the way of it most of the mornings moving forward. Aware of where he was, he lied motionless as his eyes opened and adjusted to the rising sun. He could feel eyes on him. Something staring.

  
He listened for another crack, assuming something was walking nearby. He waited for a sound. None came. Carefully, he stretched his neck off the ground to survey the surrounding forest. The vibrant greens and reds started to fill out the leaves. The plant life seemed to soak in the sun, drinking it in like fresh water. He thought of water and could feel the same crack on the inside of his cheek with his tongue. Nothing around him, he gathered his body and rose, gradually, still scanning the surroundings for threats. He got to his feet, gathered his remaining belongings, and started into the forest thinking of water. He could still feel eyes on him.

  
He had marked the trees so if he needed to find the pool again he could. He marked them all near the bottom as to not alert any passing beasts to his presence, but he did not wish to return to his pool. There was safety in the known that was clearly a logical draw. If he could figure out a more permanent shelter near the pool, he’d have all the water and fish he could ever need. He could manage a life for himself, for a time. But as he stood, pulling his dirk from its sheath, he considered walking toward the pool or venturing further into the unknown.

  
Two thoughts seemed to push him deeper into the forest. One: the relative safety he enjoyed so far on the island was most likely due to his constant movement. He’d never been in one place long enough for something to find him. So if he kept moving, he could keep ahead of threats, as he did in his youth.

  
Two: he could not help but think as a boy would. With a whole new world to explore, the excitement of what could be around him overruled any sensible notion to remain. It was the kind of thinking that got him here however, and he quickly reconsidered, stopping mid stride, almost ready to convince himself to turn back.  
He looked over his shoulder. If I had turned back in Qarth, I’d be halfway to Westeros with a full hull of treasures and an entire crew of living men. His heart wanted to venture forward. His mind kept thinking to turn back.

  
He heard another subtle crack, but it came from above. As his head tilted up, he saw paws and claws. He lifted his dirk to catch the attacker, and with an incredible roar, fur and fury collided with flesh and steel. The force of the attack sent him immediately to the forest floor. Everything went black.

  
He woke wet and warm. Blood covered his chest and stomach. His body was flat against the jungle floor. His right arm was tangled with the open neck of a jungle cat with golden fur, like the one the foreman wore on his head. The cat had pounced at him from a tree branch and Har was lucky to have his dirk out. The cat’s claws sliced into his right arm, a few marks cut deep into his skin. He saw white through one of the gouges. His head throbbed. He could feel the lump swelling where his head landed on a root. His shoulders and back ached. Bruises formed. As he breathed, he felt his ribs, partially broken, stabbing, like the cat’s claws broke off in the sides of his chest. His legs were twisted below the dead cat’s body, but he didn’t feel searing pain, only slight discomfort. He wriggled his body, trying to relieve the weight of the attacker from his twisted legs. He started to slide free, and climbed out from underneath the predator.

  
The dirk stayed in place. It impaled through the cat’s throat and out of the back of its head where its skull met the spine. The cat’s eyes and mouth remained open, like Xenus, with a look of shock. Har was supposed to be easy prey, all pink, blistered, and weary. Standing over the cat, his body sorer than his first moments ashore, he felt pity.

  
The animal was a gorgeous specimen. It outweighed him by six stone, or more, and looked like it stood four to four and a half feet high to the shoulders when it was alive. Its head was massive, twice the size of his own, with huge powerful jaws and long predatory teeth. The incisors were like long cylindrical daggers. Its eyes were a clouded yellow. Its fur was soft and sleek. The cat looked to be the same species the tree foreman wore, except much larger. He hated killing animals. In Westeros, he’d gone on hunts before, but never found the enjoyment he’d been promised. Lordlings always seemed keen on ending life. He did not. Especially a beautiful animal’s. An animal like this.

  
But here, as he was learning through multiple painful trials, he was clearly on the menu. Even the insects seemed to have a taste for man-blood. He was an unwelcomed guest, far from the North’s Guest Right customs, and everything about this place seemed to want him dead.

  
He stood over the cat, still in awe of its beauty, knowing soon he’d have to butcher it like a common deer. In his voyages, he’d known battle, tasted murder before. In the past two days though, he had killed more than he ever cared to. The bugs, the turtle, the fish, Xenus, the other fish, the crabs, and now the jungle cat, all living three days ago, now dead. I killed my entire crew as well. I am a murderer.

  
If he cut the skin off cleanly, he could make a cloak of the pelt, both to keep him warmer at night and cover more of his skin from the bugs. Also, he thought, wearing a beast like this through the jungle will let everything that planned to kill him know what happens when one tries. His guilt started to transform into pride. It was either him, or me. I’m still standing.

  
He cut into the gut and opened it. He would harvest as much meat as he could, find a place to cook it, and add the meat to the leaf pouch. He also wanted to try to make a wineskin to hold water. Wine would be nice. He’d learned to make them on a voyage in Dorne. He used goat skin then, but he felt the process would be mostly the same.

  
After cutting the skin from the neck free, he pulled the rest off, most of it peeling away easily. Some required additional cuts. He worked diligently, almost politely, finding it hard to savage such a creature. It would have disemboweled him in an instant, but he continued to cut and peel with a solemn reverence.  
He gathered the slabs of meat and removed the stomach. He was still close to the shoreline the trade took place, so he gathered what he could carry and went to the water. He took the meat and rinsed it with a bit of sea water. The salt might add some flavor. He hoped it wouldn’t corrupt the meat.

  
He started a fire in the sand with some branches he found near the forest’s edge. The flint flipped over into his sharpening stone and he began to drag the blade across it, the metal screeching itself sharp again.

  
He cooked the first slab and tasted it immediately. Although gamey and tough, it was food. It took him as long to eat one piece as it did to cook most of the slabs he’d cut. Each bite required thorough chewing. Each gulp was almost too thick to get down. With the killer fish and crab, he seemed to develop a fine pallet. Especially for a ship wrecked wanderer in a land of nothing safe, since the bugs, he’d eaten like a lord. Jungle cat didn’t taste near as good as a cow or deer, or killer fish for that matter, but it sure tasted much better than nothing.

  
The fire burning, he looked to the ocean for liquid relief. He still wasn’t sure if he was supposed to drink boiled sea water, but he had no choice. Backtracking to the pool would take half a day, and it would take another half day back. He’d have to carry one shell-full back and boil it, or start another fire there, drink and walk back.

  
He had moved on from the pool in his mind. Going back there would be going back in time, to his old life. He had to continue as the king of the new world. He was done with Har of the Harbor: Bastard’s Bastard.

  
He boiled sea water and drank it, reluctantly. It still tasted like the sea, just a little less so. It only quenched his thirst slightly because he was so thirsty. If he were just hot, and not stranded in an unknown jungle, the water would have made him thirstier. With no other immediate options however, he had to make due. At least there was jungle cat in his gut to catch it.

  
After another fine meal, Har went back to the cat, its skin draped over some branches to dry. He was no tanner. The skin would be finished the best he knew how, but the smell of death started to dim in his nose. He was becoming used to it.

  
He cleaned the skin, lit a torch, and started to heat the underside. Then, he took sea water, boiled it, and poured it on the skin. The fur side was gorgeous. He’d be proud to drape it over his shoulders.

  
He took the stomach, split one side open, and turned it inside out. He brought it to the ocean to clean it, and began to cure it. He cut the bark off of a tree and, with the turtle shell, scraped off sap and transferred it onto the skin. He let it settle and heated it, filled it with sea water and emptied it, hoping to clear some of the sap taste.

  
He worked at the cloak and skin for most of the day, going back and forth from the ocean to the fire. As he worked, thoughts raced through his head in a clouded haze of emotions. Guilt for the dead and the failed voyage. Triumph from his recent conquests. Trepidation for the land’s inhabitants. And an uncertainty about everything.

  
The cat’s carcass, stripped and rotting, lied next to the tree it pounced down from. He considered fishing with its parts, like he’d done with Xenus, but, again, it came back to the pool. Should I go back or press onward? With enough meat, some water in his gut, and the cloak and wineskin almost finished, he was ready.  
He took one last trip to the water, to rinse off the previous two days. He hadn’t thought of bathing or the privy since he’d landed. Now was as good a time as any, so he took care of his base needs and jumped back into the ocean that had spit him out.

  
Bathing in sea water doesn’t always help, however the sap from the trees, itch from the bugs, and blood from the cat sunk deep into his skin and he needed some relief. The salt stung the open wounds, a welcome alternative to boiling water. The cuts were not as deep as he first thought, although one sliced right to the bone. Sweat from the day’s work kept the cuts from bleeding, but after the wash, he’d burn the wounds closed and put the fire out. He could be on his way after that. Into the unknown wilderness.

  
After a quick dip, he laid his breeches, tunic, and boots out to dry, as he laid naked on a stone to dry himself. What else can I use from the jungle cat? He thought, sprawled, his back bare against the stone, his hands folded behind his head as he gazed up into the clear blue sky. The claws and teeth could be useful. I could cut skin into thin strips and braid a short rope. A bone or two could be hollowed out and serve as some use. He tried to be creative. He tried to contemplate. As he felt his body dry, he thought Is this new found caution intelligent contemplation or cowardice in disguise. He thought of Lonely Lem’s eyes.  
Dry, he dressed and made his way to the cloak and carcass. The cloak would never feel professionally tanned, so he didn’t care if it wasn’t ready. He wanted to pack up and go. His gut gurgled, probably from the sea water. He thought he’d soon have to find a stream or pond.

  
The shore sloped upward. Walking back, he couldn’t see the carcass until halfway up the beach. A small dog looking animal was chewing at the body. He saw its full profile, digging its face into the middle of its open body cavity. He continued to walk toward it, puffing his chest to appear larger. Most animals wouldn’t attack an animal larger than itself. He hoped he was right. He pulled the dirk out in case he was wrong.

  
Its body was stumpy, thick around the neck, chest, and hips. Its front legs extended out from the sides of its body more than the front. Its chest and shoulder muscles well formed. Its back legs were half the length of its front ones, and twice as thick. Between chewing, it lifted his head. A black face trimmed with grey shag peered at him inquisitively. It had a small chunk taken out of one ear. Its beady eyes locked with his as it chewed. Har walked straight toward the cloak, drying. The dog thing took breaks in between bites of cat to check on him, but it seemed more interested in the carcass than anything else. Har slowly approached his things, dirk in hand, four feet from the eating dog. He draped the cloak around his shoulders, picked up the wineskin and leaf pouch. The smell of the carcass had saved his own food. The dog hadn’t stolen his left over sea food or fresh cat.

  
Both Har and the dog kept close watch of each other, wary with an unspoken truce. I’ve killed enough, you stay there and I’ll stay here. The dog seemed to agree.  
He looked down to tuck the shell in with some of the things he was carrying. When he looked up, another dog had snuck into eating formation. Shortly after, another arrived. Then another. The fourth dog looked at him differently. It was bigger than the other three. White hairs sprouted out of its chin longer and thinner than the rest of its fur. It bared its teeth, showing an experienced mouth peppered with the scars of kills or battle. The sharp end of one its teeth had chipped of. Its eyes growled and its voice yelped a high pitched call. Keeping his eyes on the pack, he started off away from the pool, East, and further into the forest.  
He checked the sun again. The day was turning into early evening. The colors of the trees and foliage started to darken. With all my courage trekking onward, I did not consider shelter for the evening. As he walked, skulking through the foliage, a tactic he now adopted as standard practice, he looked for a thick tree or a rock formation. The land flattened out. Trees still towered over him. The underbrush thinned. Save the colors, it resembled the wolfswood.

  
He climbed a small hill and at its peak he saw a river. Water. He needed water, and to test his wineskin and to drink, but he knew not to go into the river. If a still pool in the middle of the forest was filled with killers, the river would surely be no safer.

  
From afar, the river bank varied from rocky ledges covered with moss and vines, to muddy silt serving as a river shore. The river cut through the green valley, flowing smooth and steady. Brown murky water rippled around peaked rocks that pierced through the surface. As he approached, he saw prints, moving to and from the river. To the horizon on his left, he could vaguely make out the river mouth, spreading thin into a delta and marsh land.

  
Near the water, he felt the hum of flying insects in his ear and around his eyes. He pulled the cloak up and around his head for coverage. Insects carried disease, he knew, and it was the blood suckers that carried the worst ones. Plagues and illnesses transferred from the native life were the most common killers in the stories he’d heard. Eustace Hightower lost most of his crew to tiny bites and bad water.

  
He reached the bank. His boots sank into the mud. Crouching near the edge of the water, he dipped the skin in. As the current filled it, he feared hidden attackers beneath the murky water. The pool was home to man-eating fish. Sailors told tales of enormous lizards, flat to the ground, that could kill a horse. He hoped not to meet those today.

  
The skin filled, he scanned for a place to set up a fire. He found a flat area up a sloped bank with gravelly dirt he could place the kindling on. He stacked some wood and started flicking his flint stone.

  
As the fire crackled, the sun started its descent. He held the filled wineskin over the flames, urging the water to boil faster. The skin seemed to be working. No water had seeped out. He could smell the sap he’d used to cure the insides as hot vapor rose out of the top of the skin. It soon bubbled. He let it cool and took a taste.

  
Sweet dirt. His eyebrows and cheeks crunched in as he swallowed. The water, still slightly warm, tasted much worse than it felt in his mouth. The skin on his cheeks and pallet absorbed the water like a sponge. As it slid down his throat, his gut bubbled, a happy reply to the bubbling previous in the day. This sappy earth water quenched much better than boiled sea water. He only hoped he’d boiled it long enough to avoid disease.

  
He sat down, planting his ass on a smooth flat stone near the fire. He gazed into the flames, taking gulps from the skin. A smile stretched across his face. Another victory. Water.

  
The red woman had stared into the fire in Qarth. The destiny she pictured in the flames was as clear to her as her tight bodice and flowing red hair was to him. Her sultry low voice sang in high Valyrian as she sprinkled dust into the flames. The flames sparkled and burst as she sprinkled, sending colored embers and veiled smoke around her curves, as thin as the red dress that clung to her. As she sung, her nipples hardened. He could see them through the silk, as if her worship aroused her. A man of three and twenty, she was the first woman who’d ever enchanted him this way. Girls at port held no power over him. He seemed to melt in her presence, the red aura from her tight body and shimmering ruby burned through him like lava. Or poison.

  
R’hllor. The Lord of Light. Heart of Fire. God of Flame and Shadow. Her master. She spoke of him as her husband or lover. She was his servant, his paramour, his concubine. The magic she performed, the visions she saw, were a fruit of their lovemaking, she made it sound. She lusted after the fire as he longed for her. Such a short meeting, but his flushed cheeks and swelling manhood reminded him of that night. The night they met and she changed the course of his journey. The course of his life.

  
He snapped out of his love trance. Damned red woman. It was the first time he thought if I had just paid for whores, I wouldn’t have fallen for her act. I wouldn’t have fallen for her.

  
The sun’s bottom edge now touched the horizon. He remembered something she said to him, “The night is dark and full of terrors.” Night was nearly upon him. He’d have to find shelter.

  
The river would never be as accommodating as the shore. There was no cover, little to no brush, and drinkable water to attract wildlife. Even if he camped on a curved bank, his back to the river, he couldn’t feel safe unaware of the river’s depths and inhabitants. If the river was shallow enough, what would keep a predator from crossing it? And if the predators were in the water, what would keep them from coming out?

  
He had food enough for the next few days and he’d boiled more water before putting out his fire. The smoke swirled into the darkening sky. A beacon he hoped would not attract visitors.

  
At the edge of the clearing, short trees grew before the forest thickened with the taller denser ones. He spotted one with a branch he thought could cradle him well enough and made his way toward it. It was up river about a quarter mile, so he started up the bank toward a small sloping hill which led to grass and dry land. His steps felt deeper, more difficult. His right foot sunk down up to his ankle. He pushed off of it, stretched his left leg out and placed his foot down. He planted his left and tried lifting his right. The soft earth around his ankle pulled back, his foot sinking. Quicksand.

  
His left foot was just as deep if not deeper, and he could feel the weight of his body slowly falling into the sand. He took a deep breath in, closed his eyes to compose himself, let out the breath, and opened his eyes. Quicksand was a different threat. It can’t be overpowered or stabbed. I couldn’t be reasoned with or outsmarted. He had to remain calm, move slowly, and get lucky. Fuck

  
He took out his dirk and tested the surrounding sand. Everything in front of him was quicksand, but behind him, the ground seemed firm enough. He had just finished stepping through it. There was also hard ground to his left, toward the edge of the bank.

  
His body slowly plummeting, he sat back on his ass. His ass began to sink. He rolled his body toward the edge of the bank as not to sink any further and evenly distribute the weight of his body, but his feet stopped him mid roll. His right shoulder fell down onto harder ground. He looked around, his world on its side, looking for something to grab. Just out of his reach, he saw the tip of a root breaking through the wall of vertical dirt at the edge of the bank. If he lunged, he could grab it. If he missed, his chest would hit the quicksand and he would be face down, and as good as dead. He curled his body into a coil and readied himself for the lunge.

  
There was only one chance. He returned the dirk to its sheath to free both hands. His feet and side continued to sink. Now or never. He rocked his body back and shot it toward the root. Time slowed as his body lunged and his arms extended, his hands spread, his fingers desperate. His left hand caught the cool brown wood and clutched, tighter than he had held the splinter raft.

  
He reached up with his right hand, gripping the left, for there was no more room on the root. It was cold and damp with light dew. His hands started to slip, but he spasmed up, and held the root with all his life. He pulled. Harder than had ever pulled, he pulled and kicked his legs wildly. Making gradual progress, pulling and pulling, his arms flexed at full strength. His legs started to rise out, but his arms were tiring. Fire filled his muscles where blood should have been. The burn sank down to his hands. His grip and fingertips now engulfed. The cold branch now seemingly aflame, he gripped as tight as his flaming hands could squeeze. He couldn’t let go. He’d made it this far and wasn’t ready for relief. Not yet.

  
With his last bit of strength he pulled. He roared from the bottom of his soul, dragon and wolf fierceness in the sound. His arms curled, still burning, and his body made it just past the edge of the quicksand and onto the ground. His legs were still stuck, but he laid back on the hard ground, his back and ass flat, not sinking. He rested, breathing as he did before escaping the sand. He sighed. Sitting up, he looked at his feet, still ankle deep in the muck. He pulled his left foot out with both hands. Then the right. He stepped back onto the ground he trusted and slumped into the dirt wall at the banks edge. He felt the root poke his back. Thank you.

  
He climbed up the dirt wall and scanned again for the tree. It was closer than he thought it would be. Testing each new step, he carefully walked toward it. The ground was grassy, not the silt of the river bank, but his heart still pumped wildly from his struggle with the quick sand and he had no strength left in him from his toes to his finger tips. He wasn’t even sure he could climb a tree.

  
As he walked, he gulped water from the skin and ate a few bites of the fish. There was little left and it was starting to feel slimy. He swallowed it, hoping the meat would give him strength, and pushed on toward the tree.

  
The sun was descending, well past half below the horizon. Darkness began to creep around him. The colors of the forest darkened again, muting the vivid colors and replacing them with cool darker tones. He had just enough time to fill his pillow sack and climb the tree before it was dark. He did. Slowly and struggling. His boots, still covered in quick sand, slid as he tried to climb. He almost fell, twice, but eventually made it to the branches he’d seen from the river.  
He wedged his body into the trunk between another branch and leaned back. He gently dropped his head back against the trunk exhausted. He reached for the food pouch, his arm shaking. As he gripped the leaf, his joints screamed. His hands lost all dexterity and he fumbled for a piece of the fish that was left, dropping a small flaky chunk that he couldn’t hold on to. He sighed again.

  
As tired as his body was, past exhaustion, his mind raced, far from sleep. The only muscles that still worked, his face muscles, he flexed. Smiling. Still alive. Still king.

  
He looked out into the indigo sky. The moon lit the scenery blue again. The previous night, he watched the living stars dance. Now, at the edge of the forest, he could see the real stars. The sky was littered with them.

  
Under the stars he felt free. Trapped on this island with no one, he was freer than he’d ever been in White Harbor. Freer than he’d ever been aboard a ship. Even his own. He enjoyed freedom. With a few more pieces of fish in his gut, he closed his eyes, trying to quiet his mind. He thought of the cat, the sand, and the red woman. He tried not to think of her. Then he quit fighting. He thought of her a little more and his mind drifted off into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sothorosi wildlife was something I wanted to create and explore. For this "Robinson Crusoe" part of the work, the animals are both threats and assets to Harwin, and his triumphs will be as realistic as I can make them in a fantasy world. 
> 
> This is part of Harwin's origin story. As shown in the previous chapter, the Jungle Cat is almost a status symbol of those powerful enough to defeat it here. Harwin is, though maybe somewhat by circumstance, assimilating to this new world for him, and his survival will be a mixture of deft application of skills, as well as the luck of his destiny.
> 
> Thank you as always and let me know what you think. I appreciate you far more than you know.
> 
> HS


	7. Chapter 7

7  
Before dawn, he rose to the sounds of the forest. An ape cackled out a morning alert it the background of the hums from the bugs. Winged insects swarmed him like smoke around a fire, so thick they became a morning mist he’d become used to by now. Birds called to each other, caws echoed by their friends. In the distance he could hear other noises mixed in. Cricket chirps, or whatever was equivalent for this place. Cat growls. Yelps that sounded like the dogs he’d seen at the cat carcass. And even some low ape hoots. The forest bustled as loudly as any port or town he’d visited. The locals here started their day as anywhere else in the world.

  
He rubbed his eyes and reached around for his things. The dirk was safely at his side in its sheath. The cloak was draped around him and still clasped in front with the cat’s claws. The wineskin, still half full of boiled water, lay in his lap. The shell was still tucked into his breeches’ pocket. The leaf pouch of meat tucked in his belt. He reached into the bag for a bite of fish. He’d grown to enjoy the taste of killer fish, slimy as it was now. He ate a meager breakfast, drank some of the water, and waited for the sunrise.

  
From his branch, he could see the horizon clearly in all directions but west, with the forest behind him. To the east was the river. Beyond it, hills that climbed into a small mountain chain guarding the river valley, tall silver watchmen. The hills were rolling greens, like the New Gift, but paler, brighter. The grey mountains ascended into hunter green peaks, heavily wooded with the same tropical trees he’d become accustomed to. The river cut through the valley, extending to the sea and as far south as his eyes could see, following the border of the mountains into the southern horizon. As the sun peaked over the mountaintops in the distant east, bright ambers and soft yellows stretched over the green hills. The long grass swayed in the morning wind, flowing smoothly, like waves in a calm pool, rippling melodically with the breeze. Golden beams soaked the flowing grass with gold, like the wind stitched silk for the Tyrells more than a world away. He’d never seen a golden rose other than the Highgarden sigil. The view here made him think this would be the place to find one.

  
Serene beauty instilled a calm in him he could not quantify. He never remembered a peace like this. As a young boy, as young as he could remember anyway, he lived on the run. After losing his mother, and the woman who fostered him, he was told to stay at sea. A boy of seven, he looked to stay with the Stark widow’s brother, a Norrey.

  
He wanted nothing to do with the Har telling him, “I have nought for you, boy, best find a ship, work it, learn it, and stay at sea. Seahorses are all over the coasts of this land from White Harbor to Dorne. If you’re found out, you’re dead. You hear me, boy? Dead. The Starks had love for your mother, that’s true. But she always hid you from them. They won’t claim you and if you go on telling ‘bout your time at Winterfell as a babe, or those tales your mum told ya ‘bout your prince daddy, someone will come to claim you. But they won’t want you neither. Just want you gone. Best you become no one from nowhere and live your life at sea.”  
He forgot a lot of his childhood. He remembered some in mere fragments. But he never forgot the conversation that turned him into the man he was today. Or the man he had been four days ago.

  
He remembered Norrey’s harsh gruff voice. He could still see his furrowed overgrown brow, coarse black whisps at the edges framing his eye sockets. He could smell the fish on his breath. But most of all, he could still feel his stomach sink as it did that day, knowing for the first time what it meant to be no one. Nothing.  
From there, he snuck onto a trading galley. Once caught, he charmed the captain into a job in the kitchen, and had been at sea since. Three long voyages with a few shorter ones sprinkled in. All in which he was Har of the Harbour, the Bastard’s Bastard.

  
A breeze gently swirled past him coming in from the shore. A hint of sea water in his nose, he heard commotion near the river downstream where he started his fire. Alert, he slunk and slid down the branches to the ground. He circled back around, skulking, staying in the brush to get a closer look.

  
As he approached, the sounds became clearer. Voices. Whose, he couldn’t yet tell, but from the brush, they weren’t the beasts. There looked to be three. They were crouched around the fire he’d made the day before, the embers still subtly smoldering. Throughout his stay here, he’d been lighting fires and putting them out with little concern as to what the smoke might draw in. He’d have to remember that moving forward.

  
He inched closer to hear what the men were saying. They looked like the Ghiscari from the shore, but their hair was twisted differently. It wasn’t the same man on the horse. They were all garbed in similar black doublets and black breeches, though. Of the three men, one appeared to be much older. Thirty or forty judging from the lines on his face. The other two were younger, closer in age to himself. The older man was worrying over the fire and the footprints around it saying something in Valyrian that sounded like, “He must have gone this way.”

  
The party started to follow Har’s path. Their noses pointed down focused on the riverbank. Their hair pointed up ridiculously. Each man was armed with bow and dagger. If he needed to, he could surprise the younger two and try his luck with the elder, but he’d just as soon avoid any more bloodshed. Why are these Ghiscari still here? Shouldn’t they have left with the trading ships?

  
Har kept as close as he could from a cover of thick brush so he could hear what the men were saying.

  
In Valyrian, one of the younger men joined in, “They never start fires. It couldn’t be them. The (word he did not recognize) never go toward the river. They know the death it brings. “ His hair was in the shape of goat horns. Thinner and shorter than the other two.

  
“Could it be the (some word that sounded like cave or underground)? They are said to live here,” replied the other younger man. His hair was shaped to resemble wings. They were small though, like a sparrow’s.

  
The older man’s hair was twisted into so many sharp long curls it looked like Dothraki arahks sprouted from atop his tan head. He turned to the younger two with contempt in his eyes, saying, “Why don’t you twats shut the fuck up (loose translation) and follow the trail and we will see. Zlatan zo Xuxus does not want any interference with the (word he did not recognize, but the same one from before). The trade deal is almost complete. Any interruptions could cost gold. If it costs gold, it’s my gold Zlatan will take. The two of you have no gold to give, so I will take your lives then, or sell you to Zlatan.”

  
Har had heard the name before. Zlatan zo Xuxus was a slaver out of New Ghis that traded with the Astapori, Yunkish, and Mereenese. He specialized in the acquisition of fighting slaves, fit for the pits of Mareen or the Unsullied. Har had been warned never to trade with him. He was known as a hard man, quick to conflict, and never afraid to enslave any man he could capture. He had built a reputation that all his trades ended in slavery. As Har never had slaves to offer, he knew to avoid the man so that he wouldn’t become one himself.

  
“How could a fire and footprints interfere with the deal?” asked the goat haired Ghiscari.

  
“(The word he did not know again. It sounded like if you took the Valyrian word for “striped” and combined it with Valyrian for “men.”) think they only owe us trees. They are so happy to give trees they have yet to ask of the steel we promised them,” replied the older.

  
“We’ll have their steel all right,” said the sparrow, “I hope they like the taste.”

  
“If they find out how we plan to give it to them before the ships are here, we’ll be the ones tasting it. I will not like that taste. So if there is a man out here that knows something and the striped men catch him, we’ll be the ones tasting steel.”

  
They paused over where Har began to sink. The arahk head crouched down, testing the sand with a stick. “Shift sand. Looks like it took him here. The struggle looks too deep in the sand for anyone to have gotten out.”

  
The sparrow circled around the bank, near where Har escaped the quick sand. “What about the prints here?”

  
The arahk head responded, “That’s where he fell in, looks like. This stuff kills more than the lizards in the river. If anyone survived sand this deep, Gods bless him. We’ll report to Zlatan when he gets back, otherwise, we’ll keep an eye out for any more fires,”

  
“Or footprints,” the goat chimed in, smiling.

  
The three Ghiscari shuffled back up the river bank and started back downstream toward the mouth of the river that met the shore. They sounded as if they were going back to a small camp they’d set up awaiting the return of the trading ships before they were out of earshot and their conversation became inaudible once more. Har thought of their conversation. It sounded like a double cross. He stayed perched in the brush until they were out of sight, then proceeded upstream.

Away from the slavers.

  
If he made it far enough south of the shore, he’d be able to start another fire without interference from the Ghiscari. He’d stay close to the river, for the water and potential food it provided, but he knew to avoid the river banks as much as possible. Shift sand the Ghiscari called it.

  
He also remembered hearing the Ghiscari says something about lizards in the river. He hadn’t seen one yet, but like everything here, he’d knew it would soon be a test he’d have to pass.

  
He walked until the sun hung directly over his head, burning his neck. The river banks seemed to be uninhabited by the wildlife. No lizards to be found. He assumed there were killer fish hiding below the murky current, but he hadn’t yet tested it. The insects seemed to swarm worse as he walked further south, huge gnats still finding their way into his eyes. The heat was a new phenomenon to him today, though.

  
In the forest and near the sea shore, shade and cool breezes seemed to counter act the heat from the sun. Here in the clearing near the river bank however, there was no shade and less breeze. For the first time he could feel the searing burn of the sun, unfiltered. Sweat beaded and dripped from his brow to his boots.  
He trekked on, taking off his cloak and wrapping his belongings in it like a sack. After a mile however, he decided the biting bugs were worse than the scorching heat, and wrapped himself back up in the cloak. Sweating too much could dehydrate him, but a bite from a diseased insect could kill him quickly and without remedy. At least he could drink more water, if it wasn’t diseased as well. The more he thought, the more danger he felt, just walking along the river.  
As the bugs swarmed around him, frustrated, he became tense. His stay so far had been eventful for sure, but he’d managed to keep a positive outlook with all the small victories. In the dense wood, bugs still found his face and flocked to it, but they were sparse and responded to a few swats. By the water, the huge gnats were joined by mosquitoes and flies, each larger than any in Westeros. With his face covered mostly by the cloak, they concentrated on his exposed skin. Wrists, neck, chest. They even bit through his breeches in sensitive areas. Areas that must taste good to bugs, but itched horribly. This was payback for the bugs I ate. Now, bugs are eating me.

  
Along the way, he dipped into his pouch for some cat. The fish was mostly gone. It had become a favorite of his. Nothing like fresh bacon, but given the available fair, much better than bugs and even the turtle. The cat didn’t taste as good, though it gave him a feeling of power as he chewed the tough chunks. Lucky as it was, killing the cat was his biggest triumph. Eating its meat only reminded him of his survival prowess. Giving him confidence as he strode further into the unknown land.

  
Sweat dripping from him like surf off the bow of a ship, he also needed to drink. He started sipping slowly, cautiously conserving, but thirst took over and sips turned to gulps and soon the skin was empty. He would have saved himself some if he hadn’t been next to the river, and he had been walking for miles and miles, surely a fire wouldn’t betray him this far from the Ghiscari. If they come, let them. Without drink, I’d die just the same as they kill me.  
He wiped his mouth from the last gulp and turned to the river. The banks this far down were a softer brown, more tan. The sand seemed more like the shore, not as dirty or wet as the shift sand had been.

  
He tested each step with an outstretched toe to ensure safe passage and gradually made his way to the water’s edge. The river lizards still had yet to make an appearance. He scanned the surface of the water for signs of life, threats, then dipped the skin down into the water’s edge. He kept his hands as far away from the water as he could as the skin filled. The water wasn’t as brown as downstream, but still dark and murky. He couldn’t make out movement under the surface, but he was sure there was something that could hurt him.

  
Once the skin filled, he turned and walked back through his footsteps. Scoping out flat ground suitable for a fire, he glanced down at the sand to his left and noticed something in the bank. Four white ovals peaked out of the sand in a deliberate mound near the edge of the water. They looked like eggs, big ones, more nourishment to consider as he had finished the fish and already started on the cat. He would never know the next opportunity for a meal, so he’d have to take advantage of whatever was presented to him. Picking eggs from a nest seemed an easy and worthwhile endeavor. Slowly, he crept to the eggs, testing the ground as he went.

  
When he reached the nest, he checked for the mother. Nests always had mother’s, of some sort, and would be the only obstacle in obtaining the meal. He couldn’t see or hear anything on the bank or in the river, so he crouched down and begun excavating his find.

  
He dug carefully around the eggs with his hands as to not damage the shells. He freed the first, grabbed it, and placed it in the leaf pouch gingerly. The shells weren’t hard like a chicken’s egg, more leathery, soft even, squishy. He dug around the second more quickly.

  
As he started to dig out the third, he heard movement in the water behind him. He turned, knowing full well what stirred. He hadn’t thought intimately about what the mother of these eggs looked like. He had a feeling, but didn’t dwell on the notion. Then he saw the mother. His thoughts were focused now.  
Water exploded up and onto the bank. Two yellow lizard eyes with a deep black slice through the middle caught his own, and the mother opened its huge scaled jaws wide and snapped them down viscously, water and sand still airborne from her initial breach. Her head was all mouth, flapping up and down with such force, the sand vibrated underneath him 20 feet away. In another heartbeat, the monster’s full body emerged from the water, slinking back and forth flat to the sand, its stubby arms vaulting its enormous body toward him with the speed and intent of a charging destrier. Its milky green and yellow markings whirred toward him, its mouth snapping, its eyes peering into him, past him, with the look of death in them.

  
He jumped up, and cleared the short edge of the bank, caught his feet and ran. He didn’t look as much where he was going, as he looked down to make sure he didn’t trip, and back to see the monster’s progress. It cleared the bank as easily as he did, and maintained the chase, gaining.

  
Clutching the leaf pouch, he never thought to unsheathe the dirk. As proud as he’d been about killing the cat, he knew how lucky he’d been. He turned his head for a quick glance, the beast continued to charge, slithering just over the ground like a snake with legs, unimpeded by the vines and rocks beneath her. It looked to be twenty feet long from the tip of its nose to the end of its tail. Twenty feet of scaled death, its head a third of its body, teeth and powerful jaws snapping. Its eyes never lost focus with his. Every time Har looked back, they caught his instantly. He could feel them still, even as he looked away.

  
He reached the forest edge and hopped into the brush, over vines, and toward a game path. He heard the monster crush through the foliage seconds later. It was too close to look back, and gaining.

  
He looked for a tree to climb. None were short enough. He thought of turning directions, but the monster’s feet felt right behind him. He thought. Then he grabbed an egg from the pouch and dropped it behind him. He kept running, but the sounds of snapping branches and rustled leaves stopped. He continued for a minute or two, his heart racing faster than his legs, until he slowed his gait and spun to see behind him.

  
It had stopped and was now out of view. He still had two of the eggs, but the monster relented, content with the return of one of its offspring. He checked himself for his things. Dirk, skin, cloak, shell; all there. The pouch still clutched under his left arm against his ribs, he figured best try the eggs after all that. He hoped they were worth it.

  
He grabbed one and pinched his fingers at the end to crack it. The leathery shell flexed more than it cracked, and he had to dig in with his fingernails to create an opening and rip. Yolk slid out, he raised the egg and caught it with his mouth. It was thick and slimy. Less than he thought, the egg still had a thickness to it. It wasn’t empty. There was a small body still inside.

  
He pulled out the embryo. It was shaped like the mother but tiny. Its little yellow eyes were closed tight, the body looked under developed, but he could still see the shapes of the monster that chased him. All babies, monster or human, looked harmless and innocent, he thought. Once they’re born and grow, though . .  
He couldn’t just bite the thing raw, he felt badly, but he was curious. It looked tender enough. If he got a fire going. But where am I?

  
He couldn’t have traveled far, only a half mile at maximum, but he ran so wildly it was hard to get his bearings. The trees in this section of the forest drooped down around him, like arms reaching down, the branches fingers gently sweeping his head as he walked through them. The colors of the surrounding bushes and leaves were darker, like the forest had been at night, yet the sun still shone through the canopy in thin beams of light. He felt crowded, as if the jungle around him was shrinking, squeezing. His blood and heart ramped back up like the monster still chased him, but he couldn’t place why there was suddenly fear in him. Deep in him.

  
He looked up, his vision became blurry. It seemed a soft dust fell, almost invisible, from the drooping trees. As he moved past each branch a puff of glitter seemed to float from them and linger in the air around him. His vision fuzzied even more. He felt tired. His eyelids drooped. His legs wobbled, bent, then he was kneeling on the forest floor, his knees cool on the damp dirt. His neck tucked into his chest for a moment, jerking downward, then popped back up. He shook his face, relaxing his cheeks so they flopped against his jaws. Stay awake.

  
He forced himself up, planting his right foot into the ground and straightening his leg. He forced his other leg up and straightened his back, his muscles responding to his brain slowly. He wanted to step, but his body paused as he thought it. Step. Step! He could barely move. It was a miracle he was still standing.  
He told his arms to reach for the skin. Full of unboiled river water, he couldn’t drink it, but he could still try to splash his face. The forest was attacking him. The powder must have been a sedative, slowly forcing him asleep, or dead.

  
His arms lifted as quickly as they could hear his brain. He dumped some water, almost instantly refreshing his movements. He sneezed and felt powder spray out of his nose. He stretched his eyes and his face open to force himself more awake.

  
He ran back as fast as his sleeping legs could carry him. His mind, still blurred, tried to focus on the motion and the forest, but he could only keep track of one at a time. Whenever he focused on running, he’d crash into a tree or trip on a branch. When he focused on his surroundings, his feet didn’t move in unison and he stumbled. The forest, still fuzzy to his eyes, started to darken and pulsate, like it was alive. And evil. Shapes took form where gaps in the foliage once were and soon he was surrounded by demons. Red eyed demons wearing red ruby necklaces, their bodies twisted black silhouettes in the trees. Tree limbs became claws stretching down, curling in front and around him. Sounds hissed and hummed at him. A bell rung faintly in the distance. The world spun. He dropped to forest floor. Black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foreshadowing as well as the introduction of another cultural group.
> 
> Ghiscari are familiar and consistent. We'll see what they are up to soon.
> 
> Let me know what you think.
> 
> As always, my sincerest thanks.
> 
> HS


	8. Chapter 8

8

His eyes closed. His mind opened. He knew he was dreaming by the sounds he heard. Harbor sounds.

  
Before he knew how, he was standing on the dock looking out into the Harbor. The stiff breeze sent a welcome chill through his bones. He was standing in the middle of a crowded pier. He looked around and saw the faces of the crew he’d lost on every body in the city. Every boy was Todden, the dead fisherman’s son he’d taken on. Every woman was Wet Wendy with her hook nose and snaggle tooth. Every man was Lem or Cletus, their eyes and faces frozen in their last shape. The shape he’d seen as the sea swallowed them whole.

  
He searched every face frantically, avoiding the piercing stares, hoping to find one he hadn’t killed. They all looked at him with the same twisted expression. Afraid. Enraged. None of them spoke. They weren’t even breathing. They just turned and looked at him. Into him. Through him, as he fought through the crowded market. The mass of people, his dead crew, seemed endless. Pushing past Lem and Cog, he walked into Jergen and Amos. Past them, he’d run into Smelly Sam of Skagos, his face pale and frozen in a stupor, even worse than it had been in life. He shoved past him to run back into Lem and Wendy. Wet Wendy, for her time at sea, now dripping, her pallid face almost blue, rotting, the outline of her skull was visible underneath the decaying skin.

  
The world spun around him, a kaleidoscope of fallen crew, spinning faster and faster. Faces, now sunk at the bottom of the Summer Sea, standing on a White Harbor Pier, suffocating him. Spiraling, his dream became a blur of dead faces and corpses. Until it was black again.

  
“My little cub,” his mother’s voice broke the silence, drowned out by the sounds of the Harbor, waves crashing in. “My sea-wolf.”

  
Bubbles came out of his mouth as he tried to answer. He was underwater. Thick dark water. A beam of light illuminated the twenty feet around him. His body suspended, his garb and brown hair floating, he felt the weight of his body sinking. He could see the litter from his youth. She’s in there. He tried to scream out Mother!, but only bubbles and a muted scream came out and floated up past the visible water and vanished into the blackness of his dream. He swam toward the litter, his limbs heavy and slow moving. His brain begged his arms and legs to move. Their slow movements met his mind’s plea with defiance.

  
The litter escaped the light, vanishing with his sound bubbles. He spun toward the source of the light. A flame burned, turning the water around it into vapor. How can the flame burn so hot in the sea?

  
The flame came from the darkness, blue light emanating above him, trickling down to him quivering in the water. The glow brightened his surroundings as it fell to him, careening peacefully down like an autumn leaf in a light breeze. The light illuminated the skin on his hands and arms. He looked down, his skin translucent; he could see the same blue flame in his veins, pumping.

  
Still shrouded in shadows, the flame began within what looked like dark clouded jaws, huge black needle like teeth surrounding it. Smoke swirled around its opening. The mouth stretched open, the flame flared and expelled out, engulfing the water around in a mixture of mist, bubbles, and vapor.

  
The flame took shape, flares popping off the sea foam blue silhouette. The shape a curling tail, a horse’s head, and frills. In the water, it appeared to be upright, floating toward him. The heat of the shape forced his eyes to squint, but in the dream, he still saw clearly. The shape was a sea horse. It’s eyes vengeful, full of scorn. The mouth closed. The fire went out, water rushing into the vacant space where the sea horse had been, smoke still swirling from the closed jaws, sharp black teeth clamped down, its muscles tensed.

  
Beneath the mouth, a red light illuminated the water around it. A shining red ruby glowed clasped around a scaled neck. The mouth started to open again, now red light emanating from it, smoke and bubbles filling the surrounding water. It opened again, a flare burst, and red flame blew out. The shape started to take form. His eyes still squinting from the heat, he tried to make it out. Looking, the water moving the red flames into something. Something . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another attempt at a dream sequence.
> 
> I'm not as confident on the dreams as the writing may indicate, so I'm curious to know if you think it worked or not, and if its both, what worked and didn't.
> 
> Thanks as always, from a humble writer and lover of ASOIAF
> 
> HS


	9. Chapter 9

9

He felt a nudge. Something wet and rough roused him as it scratched over his face. His eyes opened to a still fuzzy world. His head thumped worse than after the fall with the jungle cat. He blinked his eyes trying to clear his vision. On his back, he saw an animal’s face close to his own, cocked to the side with apparent interest. The dog from the beach?

  
The first dog that he’d seen eating the cat from the beach was sitting down on its haunches next to him, grinning like it knew something Har didn’t. He inched up, slowly, as to not arouse the wild animal, propping his upper body with his forearms and elbows planted on the jungle floor. He sat up, confused both by the poison dream he’d just awakened from and the presence of the native. Did it lick my face like a common domestic dog?

  
He looked at the dog. . . thing, and down at his dirk. There was no imminent danger he could feel, but the thing’s intentions were still unclear. Reaching down, he slipped the dirk out an inch and back in to make sure if it was needed, he could pull it out cleanly. His pouch was still at his hip, filled with the same jungle cat they had shared on their first encounter. Har reached in and grabbed a small chunk of jungle cat and tossed it over to the dog. The dog caught the flesh cleanly, swallowed and perked its head back at attention still sitting on its haunches.

  
“Good boy?” Har questioned as he inched his way up to his feet. The dog replied with a series of yelps that seemed obedient. Har reached for another chunk and tossed it. The dog caught the piece again, swallowed, and returned to ready position. “Good boy.” Har proclaimed.

  
His head felt thirty stone atop his neck and shoulders. Now standing, he felt a brief stint of lightheadedness before coming back to clarity. Still unsure of the dog’s intentions and what caused him to black out, he scanned his surroundings for clues of his poisoning or the dog’s friends he had been with. Dogs stay in packs. Does this creature? As he searched around, there was no additional dogs in sight, however that could mean little to nothing if the pack meant to stay unseen until an attack was unleashed. He had to remain calm and keep wary for anything. He always knew that wild animals were unpredictable. How could anyone have predicted a wild thing would seek out my companionship?

  
Still on its haunches, he looked to the dog, crouched down, and reached out his left hand. A right-handed swordsman, he figured if the thing bit him, better to give him his useless hand than risk losing his chance at defending himself.

  
The dog’s snout reached into the palm of his hand and nestled into his touch. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? Have you been following me since we met before? Where’s your friends? Are they going to jump out and kill me as soon as we walk away from here?” Har looked for an answer. No words came, but the dog did look into his eyes, its mouth still grinning, and Har felt assured at least. How cunning could a beast like this be to play out a farce this long? If he meant to kill me, by now at least I think I’d know.

  
In White Harbor, he’d been fond of many dogs either in the castle or on the pier. None were his though. He always imagined, as a boy, traveling with a dog by his side. Dogs never betrayed their humans. People betrayed all the time. He felt he’d be safest sailing with a crew of dogs instead of people, if they could only tie knots and ready sails. Since they couldn’t, he’d had to persist through a betrayal or two. His crew only humans after all.

  
Har could tell this was the same he’d seen on the beach. It had the same chunk missing from its small ear. Its demeanor hadn’t changed since he woke, it still sat back, but Har moved in closer. He began to scratch behind its ears and the bottom of its back, places dogs had enjoyed when in Westeros. Its body was built for power, stumpy and bulky, muscle bound and thick. Its shaggy grey and black fur was matted in spots with fresh bites visible on the backs of its hind legs.  
Its head started to nestle into his body. The compact snout must have smelled the food pouch and it hurriedly forced its muzzle into it. Without thought, Har back handed the dog, like he would have in White Harbor to a domestic dog, “No.”

  
Its demeanor changed slightly. Tiny ears drooped downward toward the side of its head and its eyes drooped, looking up at him more sorrowfully than scornfully. “I’ll give you more, but you cannot take it.” He pointed to the bag, “No.”

  
The dog slinked away a few steps and sat back on its haunches.

  
“Good boy.” Har threw him another piece of cat. Passing out, he dropped the river lizard, but he still had one unopened egg. In his pouch, he still had bits of fish, a day or two worth of jungle cat, and the egg. “If you’re still good, we’ll share the rest of this and find some more.” He threw another two pieces to the dog and approached it again to pet it in reassurance.

  
“You need a name,” he said, thinking he also needed one. “What should we call you? I can’t keep calling you dog. For all I know you’re no dog at all.” His shaggy smile came back with a few quick yelps. The dog was chipper and lively. It seemed young, pup like. The humanity in his brown eyes seemed almost familiar. Something about the knick on his ear also reminded Har of his recent past. “Lem had a that same chunk of ear missing. Said a fair maid bit it in passion. I bet it was a whore he didn’t pay. How’d you lose your chunk, Lem?” The name rolled off his tongue.

  
Lonely Lem was never lonely. His nickname was meant to be ironic. In every port, every city, he’d either have a girl waiting or would “find” one for the right amount of coin. Har had met Lem on a ship in their youth, Har only a year or two older than Lem. On Har’s second voyage across the Narrow Sea, he was promoted from kitchen scullion to deck scrubber. The pay was shit either way, but at least he could learn sailing and spend his days above deck in the sun. Lem was another orphan the captain had found and traded for with only a few lemons. Har wasn’t even sure Lem’s name was Lem before the trade. The Captain had a tender place in his cold heart for orphans.

  
Lem had been with him until the wreck. He was the closest to family Har had since he’d lost his mother. Reminiscing about Lem made him remember the look on his face. Lem’s last look.

  
The new Lem, Lem the dog, yelp- yelped Har back to the now. The threat of Lem now dealt with, Har thought back on the powder. Poison from the trees he thought. Which tree and how it worked were mysteries he wanted solved. The next time he passed out from poison he could wake to a jungle cat eating him. That would not do.

  
He stood and surveyed. Looking all around him, he remembered seeing darker trees before he fell. The forest here was light. As light as it had been every other time he’d looked. He re-traced his steps, Lem trailing not far behind. The jungle cat cloak covered his nose and mouth as he returned to the approximate spot he remembered feeling different hoping to avoid another episode.

  
The limbs of the trees seemed to have receded. He remembered the branches hanging low, almost as if they were reaching down to touch him. Grab him. Now, the branches were extending out and upward from their trunks. Is this the same forest?

  
Poisons have many effects, one of them being hallucinations. He could believe he imagined some of what he saw, but the image of the bent limbs burned vividly in his mind’s eye. He could feel his shoulders brushing through the leaves and tips of the branches. Was the forest alive as it seemed?

  
Above where he was, he noticed a bright yellow bulb at the base of a high branch where it met a trunk. Its petals folded in on itself trimmed with a pale green vine that wrapped around the tree securing the flower to it. He studied it for a heartbeat and approached the tree’s trunk, following the vines down the trunk to its base. The tree in front of him, the vine from the flower wrapped around the trunks base about four feet up from the forest floor.

  
Har slid his dirk out, Lem yelped, and he hacked at the vine, cutting it with one clean stroke. A horrible noise sounded from above and the vine retracted up the tree trunk.

  
Har stepped back to look up at the yellow flower. Its petals moved, spreading out from the center and the vines slithered back up the tree trunk.  
“Lem, let’s go,” he shouted back as he began to run back toward the river shore. As he looked back to make sure his new companion was following, he noticed the flower once more. It turned, the middle of its petal folds peering at him like an eye. The petals opened revealing a bright orange bud that seemingly stared at him and quivered. He was too far to notice if the powder dropped or not, but he assumed that was culprit. Good thing I ran.

  
Har continued his pace through the wood, Lem still trailing, not knowing why. His thoughts faded into a memory of his youth. Not in the Harbor, but of Winterfell, running through the Wolfswood. It seemed strange to remember something so vague from so long ago, but something about that moment flashed in his mind. As far as he could remember, that had been the last time he’d seen a forest before landing ashore.

  
He continued until he and Lem were out of the woods. The sight of the river was no more inviting than the forest, but after splashing his face, passing out, and running, he knew he needed water and if there were river lizards, at least he had back up this time.

  
He approached the river slowly, keeping in mind the shift sand and river lizards. The water was flowing more rapidly than it had been the last time he’d dipped the skin in. He carefully collected the water, found a spot on the bank, and prepared for a fire while Lem drank from the river.

  
The boiled water quenched his thirst as he and Lem ate a few more bites of jungle cat. It was well past noon when Har finally decided to get up from the log he drug from the forest edge as a seat. He wasn’t sure what to do, but he didn’t want to sit any longer. Before he put out the fire, he drank all the water left in the skin, re-filled it and boiled it again. He snuffed the fire out and cleared the campsite to avoid any more investigations from the Ghiscari. Lem watched on in amusement yelping happily.

  
He made his way further south, upstream. There was truth to the logic that further distance between himself, the beasts, and the Ghiscari would prove safer, he wasn’t continuing south to flee or hide. He was not here to inhabit this place. This was uncharted territory and he would explore.

  
For the rest of the afternoon, he and Lem trekked south. Following the river, he stayed just out of the brush and off the river bank. Bugs continued to hum in his face. Lem followed behind yelping occasionally. The trees and bank seemed consistent winding through the foliage and mountains creating a fertile valley beyond the far bank. Life abound, the forest and river sounded with the calls and movements of the locals. He couldn’t see much more than a few monkeys and birds in the forest or the movement in the water, but he felt a stranger in a foreign pier. A familiar and welcome feeling.

  
As dusk approached he searched for a tree or bushes for shelter. He felt safer with Lem around, though Lem would be more useful as an alarm than a defender if it came to facing the Ghiscari. Tough as Lem looked, he seemed more infantile than mature. And the ease in which Lem submitted earlier was only evidence to that. Lucky as it was, Har would feel safer if the dog had fought him a little harder. He wished human Lem fought harder too.

  
Where he stood now, the trees were all too tall to climb and the bushes were too low to the ground to climb under. He ventured into the wood a few hundred feet to broaden his search. Still nothing stood out. He walked further in, Lem close behind until he noticed an opening carved into a stone hill. Rock formations jutted up from the forest floor creating a hard mound in the center of a small clearing. The grass around the stone seemed to have died, only packed dirt bordered the rocks. The tallest crag rose from just off center of the formation giving the stone hill the silhouette of a crude castle.

  
This is the seat of my kingdom.

  
He walked to the hill, his eyes and movements now trained by the forest. Every step, every tree limb, could mean death, so he approached each venture forward with the utmost caution. He checked for yellow flowers, jungle cats, shift sand, even Lem’s family. He fought hard to stay alive this long. He focused on the little things that would make it even longer.

  
As he approached the opening, he noticed things about the rocks that made his cautious new mindset uneasy. The opening seemed to have been carved into the stone. No beast with paws could cut such a fine line. This is mans’ work. The dirt around the hill’s edge seemed tilled. Clearly something lived or once lived here, but with the sun setting and light dwindling, he’d have to make due. At least a fire wouldn’t smoke so obviously if he decided to start one.

  
He stepped into the dark entrance. A hall seemed to continue deep into the hill, but the darkness filled it only a few steps inside it. Whatever was in the hill was in total darkness. If he was being honest with himself, he wanted no part of finding out what was inside.

  
Branches and twigs for kindling was easy enough to find in the forest around the clearing. He grabbed what he could find and headed back into the opening. He sat down with his back to the wall of the opening, his left shoulder shrouded in the dark. He called for Lem, who declined, yelping back away from the opening. Not one for caves, huh? The wood stacked clean enough on the jagged rocky floor of the cave and he started to work at his flint. Once he got into rhythm, the kindling sparked quick enough and the fire illuminated the long rocky hallway which seemed to have been carved into the stone hill. The light stopped before the hallway turned or emptied into a room or clearance, so the contents of this cave were still a mystery. He sheathed his dirk and opened the leaf pouch for a bite of jungle cat. Reaching in, he felt the egg, and figured Lem would enjoy it more than he, so he brought it out and went to the entrance to peer out into the forest, now dark with the sun fully set, his back to the hallway.

  
“C’mere boy. I got a river lizard egg for ya,” he called shaking the egg in his hand as if to beckon the dog more quickly. “C’mon boy, where are ya-“ He felt hands grabbing his mouth, shoulders, throat, and side. Too many hands all at once. They snatched him and he flew into the darkness. Everything pitch black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LEM!
> 
> Say what you want, as I had one reviewer basically write an eye roll on the "dog" sidekick thing (Harwin is a pseudo Jon-ish type character archetype), but I love Lem.
> 
> I hope you will too.
> 
> Whoa! Who and what snatched Harwin at the end?
> 
> You'll soon find out. Stay tuned.
> 
> Let me know either way, all feedback is welcome and appreciated. Even eye rolls.
> 
> HS


	10. Chapter 10

10

As hands pulled his body further into the dark, he fought them off, swiping and punching. With every hand he fought off, two more rushed through the abyss to grab him, pulling him, dragging him back. He coughed and felt his head lighten. The silence pulsated in his ears, and the pitch black started to blur and hum. He could feel the poison effects from the yellow flower. A bell rang faintly in the distance. His arms stopped listening to his mind and before long he could feel himself drifting further into the dark. He faded into a poison sleep.

  
He was fully submerged in the thick dark water again, suspended and sinking slowly. Instead of a flame, a faint beam of sunlight shone down from above.  
Suddenly, he dropped to a floor, water splashing down around him and draining away. The faint beam gently illuminating only the two feet around where he stood, drenched in the dark water. The air was cold, he could see his breath, and he hugged himself for warmth. To his right, another beam shone down illuminating a great polished stone chair with direwolves carved as handrests. Another beam shone down behind him illuminating a dark rocky seat with three dragons intertwined above the seat. Another light shone on an oily black chair carved into a kracken. Another shone on an enormous seat shaped like two towers connected by a bridge. Soon lights flashed and shone down on all numbers of seats and benches. A black flat log. A white weirwood throne. A golden chair ornate with female lion handrests and a male lion above. Beams flickered on and soon he was surrounded by chairs and thrones.

  
A rope ladder descended from above and fell, landing at his feet. All at once, the beams and chairs erased into the cold black air and a single beam shone down on the ladder. He peered above to see where it led. Suspended above him one hundred feet or more was a twisted melted tangle of barbs and blades shaped into a throne. The Iron Throne. He grabbed the ladder and climbed. Rung by rung, he pulled himself up, the rope ladder swaying in the beam of light. He kept his head down, focused on the rungs, as the moving ladder became increasingly more difficult to hang on to. A gust of wind, and sea spray hit his face, the salty smell reminiscent of his first days ashore after the wreck. The wind sent the ladder reeling, swinging wildly, spinning.

  
He looked back up at the chair. Something was in it. A thin sickly dragon, mute in color and features, sat the chair with a sorrow to its face. To its right, a Seahorse with long eyelashes dressed in silk and finery looked down at Har. Its face sneered then looked to the dragon. It spoke to the dragon in words he could not hear or understand dominating the exchange as the weak dragon sat silently, staring straight ahead, absorbing the words. Without adjusting its gaze, it lifted a gaunt clawed arm and pointed. From behind the throne, chariots thundered past and charged ahead, chasing something. A wolf mother spotted them and then turned to run, holding a pup in its jaws. Seahorses in half helms holding lances charged at the wolf, gaining ground until the wolf was just above the ladder. She looked down at Har, her eyes eerily familiar, and dropped the pup to him one hundred feet down. As she did, the chariots crashed into her and everything above him vanished but the pup, falling.

  
He jumped off the ladder to catch the pup, which looked into him with his own eyes and yelped. They started to plummet together. He curled into the pup, closed his eyes and fell.

  
They crashed into a wave, cold salty water meeting him, engulfing him. He was back in the thick black pool, suspended, his clothes and hair floating. The pup vanished the instant they hit the surface and broke through.

  
Now submerged, he looked above the surface of the black water. A red flame illuminated the chariots, still circling above him. He spun in the water, kicking himself around, bubbles lightly rising from his mouth as he opened it to breathe. He took in sea water, filling his lungs and spit it back out. A blue flame erupted as his breath escaped and the chariots cleared above him.

  
The flame continued, torching out of his mouth and eviscerating the surrounding black pool. He fell, still wet, to the stone floor again, landing on his ass. The fire went out. He was in darkness, the thick black air heavy on his skin. In his lungs.

  
He heard the rushing of the ocean as a cool wet wave gently lapped at him. Then leaves rustled, bugs crunched, skin ripped, bones cracked, cats growled, wood split, men muttered, Lem yelped, and the darkness grew darker. The air turned frigid, his breath thick though still invisible in the abyss.

  
The ground under him faded and he began to fall again, tumbling and flipping through the air until he couldn’t tell up from down. Spinning and falling, his heart raced so fast he could hear its beating. Bumbum bumbum bumbum. Then everything went still and he heard a dim buzz, blackness all around.

  
He felt his eyes open, but the blackness was still all he could see. He felt around it with his hands, touching his face, hair, chest, and the floor beneath him. His face was cool to the touch, glazed with sweat, his beard growth coming in sharp and stubbly. His hair was dry, his scalp damp with cold sweat and sticky from the ocean water he used to bathe the previous day. His chest was still covered with the rough spun and his shoulders were still draped by the cloak, fastened in front of him with the cat claws.

  
He reached for the dirk on his hip. It was there, sheathed, ready for use. The wine skin was still at his hip as well, the loop of rope tied around his cloth belt. The leaf pouch was gone. The shell as well. His boots were still on his feet and the flint rock was still in his pocket.

  
The ground beneath him felt cold, hard, and jagged. Lying on his back, he could feel scrapes on his backs and legs from being dragged. It smelled dank and musty. The sounds of his subtle movements echoed around what sounded like a vast hall or large space. But his eyes remained useless, nothing but pitch black all around.

  
He gathered himself in the dark and stood up blind and off balance, reaching his arms and hands out to feel. Nothing. His outstretched arms groped for a wall or ledge, feeling nothing but the black air. He bent down to touch the floor, cold with sharp edges. He walked forward, keeping his hands on the rocks, feeling for a seam, edge, anything. He counted his paces three, four, five trying to picture the space in his mind, his eyes useless. Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five. .Bending over, his hand still touching the floor, his head nudged up gently against a wall. He felt it. Smooth, cold, oily. He stroked the wall in front of him like a mason spreading mortar. He felt the seams of the stones, rounded and tight together. He stopped, pivoted around so he was facing what was behind him and made his way back to where he started, counting the steps as he went by.

  
Forty-four, Forty-five. He was back where he started. He continued, counting his steps again but starting at one.

  
Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-ei-. . . He reached another wall built by to same smooth cold stone. He pivoted back, returned to the center, and proceeded to map out the room.

  
From where he started the room was forty five paces forward, twenty-eight paces back, thirty-one paces left, and forty-two paces right. Both add up to seventy-three paces. The room must be a square or circle.

  
From his starting point, he walked back to the forward wall. He followed the wall to his right. Forty-two paces, just like from the center. As he felt the wall, he only felt the stone. No doors or seams of a different sort. He traced his steps back to where he started on the forward wall and walked left. Thirty-one paces. No doors or seams other than the stones.

  
He tested the back wall and the left wall. Same dimensions. No seams. He tested the right wall. He walked forward. Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five. Wall. He walked back, trying one more wall.

  
Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight. There should be a wall that stops us here, the backward wall. It continued. Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one He kept counting walking slowly, testing each step as if there were shift sand.

  
Sixty-four, sixty-five, sixty-six, sixty-seven. This is a hall. Or larger room. He returned to where he started on this wall, sixty-seven paces back, and tested how wide the hall was. With the wall on his right side walking back, he turned left and counted. On, two, thee, four, five, six, sev-. . He felt the wall to the hall and followed it. He counted the paces, his hand sliding across the smooth oily stone. At sixty-five, the wall turned right. He counted paces across the opening, the hall continued.

  
The rooms and corridors took shape as he systematically continued around the perimeter of the pitch black rooms and halls. Each wall was built with the smooth stone and every floor the same jagged rock. The dank and must smelled as if he were underground and the walls echoed as if the ceiling were as high as a mountain, each step booming through the halls like so many feet following his every step.

  
He had the choice of three halls that extended off the main corridor. Two to the one side and one to the other. He kept turning back and forth so he wouldn’t designate anything as left or right or north or south. He kept his eyes closed keeping the picture of the area in his mind.

  
He figured the two halls led to other rooms. The one hall most likely to the entrance or stairway. He walked along the wall to the beginning of the hall he intended to try. Standing in the middle, he stretched his arms wide, side to side, touching both walls as he walked down it. Seventy-one paces and he reached another wall. He felt it. Smooth stone, cold, oily, then he felt a seam. He heard the faint sound of air rushing behind the wall and the cool breeze barely seeping through the tight seam.

  
He worried the seam with his fingers, trying to pry the stone open. The seams proved too tight, and all he could manage was a broken finger nail and sore finger tips.

  
This is the way. I just have to see. He had the flint and the dirk. He wasn’t sure at first what he could light to start a fire, but with as much time as he could ever need to ponder on his options, as dark and silent it was, he thought of an idea. Whether he felt confident in it working, he could not say. But uncertain action felt better than just standing motionless in the dark.

  
He ripped the remaining sleeve from his tunic and wrapped it in a ball. He rubbed the ball on the walls of the oily stone, hoping the oil, whatever it was, would help the fibers catch. He placed the cloth ball down in front of him facing the doorway, and worked the flint.

  
He kept his eyes closed for the first few strikes to work into a rhythm by feel. Then he opened them. Each spark was bright, his eyes unable to adjust with only a searing instant of light to absorb. He worked furiously, nicking his thumb once or twice as he struck. He could feel the blood trickle down onto the stone.  
Spark after spark yielded nothing. Still, he struck, swiping the flint rock twice a heartbeat, his brow beginning to bead sweat. His eyes were getting used to the bright flashes, so he could see his surroundings for a brief moment, then dark, light, then dark. The stones of the walls were black as jet, arranged so tightly he couldn’t see the seams with each flash. The floor was made of jagged taupe rock, stained with dark maroon. He faced the doorway, striking. Each flash he looked for the seam or a lever, a handle, anything to get free of this prison.

  
Finally, a spark singed the cloth and started to smoke. He didn’t pause but to gently fan the smolder with his breath. Smoke grew to an ember, and ember to a flare, and soon the cloth was burning, illuminating the black, like the flame in his poison dream. He stabbed the cloth with his dirk and lifted it up as a torch.  
He heard a shriek from behind him and swung, the light turning as he did. He looked and jumped back, shocked by what stood behind him.

  
Those were no echoes before. The patter of steps behind him was a host of gaunt pale faces shrouded in roughspun grey robes. Ten or fifteen faces let out a high pitched cry that pierced through his ears and straight into his mind. The faces had eye lids which looked fused shut from years without use. Their noses shrunken to only two slits, their mouths were lipless, thin and wide, with sharp teeth visible as they gasped, covering their faces with robed thin arms from the light.

  
As he jumped back, the dirk torch glanced off the wall on his right and the black oily stone ignited. The dim light from the torch soon amplified as the walls were catching and the flames began to spread, running down the halls and around the perimeter of the corridor. Each new stretch that was illuminated showed hundreds more of the host.

  
The floor, now fully lit, wasn’t maroon. It was red. Blood red. And Har could see the bones of creatures and other people strewn about picked clean of flesh. A skull lay near his feet. He kicked it, looked at the eyeless men in front of him, still hiding their faces from the light, and began hacking with the dirk torch.  
Soon, the entire clearing was aflame, the black stone burning with a blue-green flare warming the air and crippling the eyeless men, most crouching down to their knees, whining in a high pitched agony. His dirk sliced through one after another, as the men around him started to push their way toward the doorway he intended on opening.

  
He pushed the dirk straight through one’s thin chest, then spun and hacked off another arm, then pivoted for a slash at an eyeless face as the host rushed him, around him and to the doorway. A thunderous boom followed by a consistent clink sounded and the air from the hallway whistled through the crack in the door as it opened. Har dove down to the floor.

  
The flames from the corridor exploded into the newly opened hall, engulfing the bodies above him. As bodies dropped, burning, and flames rushed above him, roaring, he bounced up off the ground and made his way through the door.

  
He pushed past suffering eyeless men with both the dirk and free hand, satiating a blood lust with his right hand whenever he could. Their bodies crumbled in the bright flames, quickly turning to ash piles around him as the air continued to simmer.

  
He saw down the hall, fully aflame on both sides, to the entrance they stole him from. He could hear Lem yelping as he pushed through ash and flimsy bodies toward the exit. Hundreds and hundreds of bodies engulfed him as they all frantically swarmed circling him. Some rushed toward the opening as some rushed away. With the light of the fire and the light of the jungle, the eyeless men had nowhere to hide.

  
Frantically scrambling, the robed white figures climbed over and past Har in both directions until all of a sudden they stopped in unison and turned to Har.  
They opened all of their eyelids. The blue-green flare stained their pale skin the color of corpses. In their open eyes was the same thick black nothing that had suffocated Har in both the dream and awake in the darkness. With one voice, they all spoke, never a mouth moving. He heard their one voice in his head, their eyeless faces staring at him. Curse you Dragonseed. May the flames you extinguish us with burn hot in your veins and boil your body alive. Let the Seashorses find you as they found your mother. And let your death be as our death. Ashes and dust. Shadows and fire.

  
The eyeless men fell into piles of ash and dust. The light from the jungle shone down the hall as the walls to Har’s left and right burned blue-green. He ran towards the opening and dove out, escaping the dark dungeon and hellish heat, rolling back into the jungle that had become his domain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read the Wiki of Ice and Fire about Sothoryos or A World of Ice and Fire, one of the cool threats enumerated are the "eyeless cave dwelling cannibals."
> 
> Enter the eyeless cave dwelling cannibals.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed them. Let me know what you think.
> 
> HS


	11. Chapter 11

11

The rays from the sun cut like daggers but the sunlight was a refreshing relief to the darkness and flames. The oppressive darkness was beginning to alter his psyche. Or was it the black stone? He couldn’t tell and didn’t care. It was good to be back outside.

  
Lem waited for him, dancing in place, his butt wagging back in forth for lack of tail. “You seemed to know not to go in there you cheeky bastard. You could’ve warned me.”

  
Lem looked at him with eyes that seemed to say I tried to tell you. I ran. You should’ve.

  
“True,” Har said, assuming the dog’s eyes said as much. “But next time, be more forceful. Bark, bite, keep me out of places like that.” Lem agreed with a yelp and a nod.

  
Har knew the actions of the dog didn’t necessarily add up to his imagined replies, but it felt good to use his voice aloud again. Aboard a ship, as both crewmen and captain, he was never quiet long. Not this long at least.

  
There was always something to shout and someone to shout at. There were always playful jests, and scornful mocks. Even with nothing to do aboard a ship, he or another crewmate would tell stories to pass the time. He had become proficient at using his voice for profit as well. In port, he grew into a deft trader, easing women with smiles, and twisting men into worse deals than they’d wish. His voice was a soothing sound in his own ears, as vane as he was. Or once was.

  
Since washing ashore, his voice lay dormant, awaiting the moment he’d need it. Before, it had been Lonely Lem he’d spoke to most. Now, Lem the dog.

  
Outside the cave, he searched for the belongings he thought he’d lost forever in the dark. The effects of the dark and poison still lingered in his head as he felt out of place looking around. Is this a different place? I don’t remember these here. He must have still been fuzzy, his bearing messed up in the bright sunlight.  
He couldn’t find the shell again, but he did manage to find the food pouch. He opened it to see it empty. “Leeeeem,” he called, holding the leaf pouch. “What did I say?” He lifted the pouch up as he and Lem looked at each other. “No. I said, NO!” He turned the pouch upside down to show the lack of meat inside. Lem cowed in shame, dropping his neck but still tilting his head to look up at Har with pitiful eyes. I’m sorry, they seemed to say.

  
“Well, I hope you’re not hungry. Gods know when we’ll find more.” Har laughed to himself seeing the shaggy grey and spotted pup cowering. “What? Are you going to stand like that all day? C’mere you dastardly bastard!” Har called Lem over with a slap on his thigh. The dog immediately bounced back to attention and bounded over to Har, jumping up to lick his face.

  
“All right. All right,” Har said, allowing some affection, but not too much. “Let’s go.”

  
The two trekked away again. First, out of the forest avoiding yellow flowers and testing for shift sand, and back to the river banks. As carefully as he was trotting through the brush, he seemed to notice differences in the forest and plant life. Even the bug swarms seemed thinner.

  
Once they reached the river, Har stopped to consider going back or moving onward again. Looking across the water from the bank, he noticed the mountains in the distance, or that there weren’t any anymore. Walking in the forest so long, he must have walked past where the chain ended.

  
As much as the comfort of familiarity pulled at him to go back into the forest and jungle he had already survived, he couldn’t. It made sense to turn back. Each new section of this deadly place had a new and increasingly terrifying obstacle to overcome. Exploring was more gallant, brave, but it had also become increasingly more dangerous, foolhardy. But every time Har thought he’d turn his body north, his heart stopped him. I can’t go back. I can never go back. Forward. Onward.

  
He turned right, following the river south. His head was still fuzzy from the previous night’s encounter with whatever was in that cave. The wine skin was still full of boiled water, so he gulped some down, hoping it would help him snap out of the fog. Lem took his cue and pranced down to the river for his own drink. Har watched his furry friend lapping at the murk thinking he noticed something. Which way did the water run before? He shook his head, took another gulp, and began walking south, downstream.

  
After an hour or so in the shade of the forest to his right, Har and Lem stopped to rest and start another fire. His water ran dry as he drank to clear his head of the remnants of the poison, so he’d fill it, boil it, and continue south.

  
Lem had also created another problem: no more food. He remembered as he reached into the empty pouch, fingertips feeling nothing but the slime left from the killer fish bits. This close to the river, he could try to fish again. No more Xenus this time, but he had fished with less before.

  
Focusing first on the water, he tip toed his way to the edge, testing for shift sand, crouched over the river and dipped the skin in. As it filled, he tried to see into the milky brown river rushing past him to his right. What lurks beneath the murk?

  
He finished the water boiling, drinking, re-filling, and boiling process and returned to the water. Without the limbs of another, he’d have to use his own. As he crouched at the edge of the river, preparing himself, he remembered the last time he reached into murky water hoping to pull out a fish.

  
In his youth in White Harbor, he had learned to fish for catfish with nothing but his hands. Pools scattered about the White Knife contained toothless fish that could be caught by dangling fingers or arms as bait. The fish used suction to swallow their prey whole, so when biting fingers or an arm, they would suck themselves stuck and be easily pulled out with little to no injuries.

  
Those fish had no teeth. Whatever lurked underneath the flowing surface most likely did. And they’d most like be sharp and nasty.

  
With the gentle babbling of the water in the background, Har contemplated the how to what he was about to do. First, he’d have to use his left arm. Like with Lem, if something bit and injured him severely, he could not lose his right. Then, he figured it best to ball his hands into a fist as to avoid losing any fingers. Bites could heal. Severed appendages would not grow back.

  
And lastly, he would have to fish more than just one time. One killer fish would prove a meager meal for even just Har. Now that he had to feed himself and his fuzzy friend, he’d need two or three, each, and that was if Lem wasn’t a greedy little fur ball, which he seemed to be with food.

  
Avoiding any further hesitation, Har stopped contemplating and shoved his left arm into the river. It floated, swaying downstream in the current, his fist balled and clenched, his eyes closed, his face grimacing. His arm swayed, waiting to be bitten.

  
He didn’t feel as hungry as when he first landed, but an irking fear crept in after the first pang of his stomach. It had been days since he worried about food. The full pouch kept his mind at ease. With it empty, the fear flowed through his veins, curdling his blood, leaving him uneasy, restless, and nervous for food.

  
Waiting, he opened his eyes. He looked at the surrounding sights this far down river. Across, the forest looked much like the one he had come from, vibrant hues and similar foliage. The banks of the river even resembled where he’d come. Even down to the smallest details. His head now clear after hours in the sun and two whole wine skins of water, he gazed into the greenery feeling the jungle was playing tricks.

  
Behind him, mountains rose, similar sentinels capped with green pines and jungle trees. Lichen clung to the crags closest to him, and again, something felt very reminiscent of his recent treks through the forest.

  
The sky was a deep azure, twilight soon descending on the river valley. The sun was hidden behind the forest across the water. He figured the sun would soon be behind him, setting west. The day felt long and hot, and with another pang at his stomach, he remembered why his arm was extended and wet.

  
He tried to continue focusing on everything else, but every loud gurgle from the river brought his mind back to the cool water that flowed past his extended left arm. Waiting had truly become worse than what was about to happen, he hoped in agonizing anticipation.

  
SHHUPPPP. Its mouth was on him up to his elbow in an instant. The sudden weight of it pulled him downstream for half a heartbeat until he planted his feet into the soft sand at the edge of the river. He reached with his right hand, grabbed a gill and pulled.

  
The suction from the fishes mouth crunched into Hars forearm. He could feel where the bruise would form as the fish adjusted its mouth for a better grip. A thick dark body flopped in the brown flow, splashing river wildly on both sides of the bank as Har struggled to pull it out of the murk.

  
He had to use his entire body, bending his knees and hips into a coil with the fish attached to his left arm and firmly in the grip of his right hand, he launched himself backwards and out of the water, onto the bank.

  
The fish still held onto his arm as if it could swallow Har whole. On the sand, he looked at his prize as he punched its mouth to free his bruised arm. The dark brown, almost purple body was longer than it was wide, though it was as wide as Lem. The enormous mouth his left arm was engulfed in took a lot of aggressive convincing to let go. Lem yelped at the fish, either angrily or excitedly, hopping around its body impatiently. Unsuccessful with punches, Har slid his dirk out and finished the fish, carefully sliding into its flesh to avoid wherever his arm was underneath.

  
Such a huge fish was more than he could have ever hoped to catch without bait. Its face was broad, with thin wispy barbs that gave it a mustachioed look. Its toothless mouth was powerful enough to have broken the skin on Har’s left forearm and left a bruise the entire length from elbow to wrist, which felt numb in spots.

  
Spent after the exertion of all of his strength, Har lied back in the sand for a moment, letting out a sigh. He looked up at the sun. A thought came to mind. He ignored it, and rolled back to his knees, then sprang to his feet, approached the fish and began butchering it.

  
He pulled the head and spine out from the body and tossed it to Lem, who sat on his haunches waiting patiently but for the subtle wiggle of his bottom on the ground. Har cut the skin and sliced the flanks into pieces he could cook in his fire. The fish yielded six sizeable chunks and he threw the remnants to Lem still working at the head and spine.

  
Har sat with his legs crossed cooking each piece of fish with a stick over the fire. The smell of the flesh cooking made his mouth water. The smoke from the fire unnerved him as he thought of the Ghiscari, but since he’d been traveling south for two days, he told himself it shouldn’t matter. Something bothered him though.

  
Har ate the first piece as soon it looked singed. Catfish meat tasted sour compared to killer fish, but this one tasted much sweeter than the smaller ones he’d caught in his youth. At least that’s how he remembered it.

  
He heard a yelp and looked at Lem. He wasn’t where the yelp came from. Lying near the bank still worrying at the tail, Lem alerted to the yelp too, but with less enthusiasm. It seemed like he was shamed.

  
The yelp came behind him. He turned to see the rest of Lem’s pack making their way toward them. They walked in formation, the fourth dog he’d seen arrive at the jungle cat, the biggest one, in front of the other two who trailed him right and left.

  
The leader approached, swaggering, with his neck down and his head up, showing his chipped experienced teeth and snarling. The two behind yelped threats following closely, their black faces bouncing back and forth. Looking at Lem, then Har, then back to Lem.

  
Lem’s ears immediately dropped when he saw them. His body slunk and he backed away from his unfinished meal. As submissive as he was to Har, it was no surprise to see him deferring to his pack. Har thought Lem would be happy to see his kin. He looked scared.

  
Har stood up, the leader approaching the fire. Har pulled his dirk from its sheath and stood awaiting a charge. He looked to Lem. The poor bugger was cowering again, ashamed. Craven.

  
To be fair, Har deduced the pack had exiled Lem for more of the same. The bites on Lem’s back legs when he first reappeared were probably from the pack. Lem looked to be only a pup though, and it seemed queer for a pack to exile a youth. Either the rules of the pack were different here, or this family didn’t want the new baby. Maybe Lem threatened the leader’s supremacy.

  
Har stepped toward the pack, seeing if the leader would back down to a show of aggression. It didn’t, but it yelped to his companions, who broke formation and turned towards Lem.

  
“Leave him out of this. You’re fight’s with me.” Har pointed the dirk at the leader, its neck still bowed. Its mouth still snarling. Its broken tooth dripping with slaver.

  
The two subordinates lowered their back legs and charged at Lem, sending the young pup into a dash, yelping pathetically. The leader lowered his own back legs and charged Har, yelping threats as it strode toward him. Har charged as well, pointing the dirk in front of him as if he were galloping down the lists. The joust wouldn’t follow traditional rules. Neither would Har.

  
The leader closed in and snapped at Har as he dove over the attacking dog, twisted his body parallel to the ground and swiped down with the dirk, catching the dog’s face with a sharp slice. Har split the leader down its snout, missing its right eye by inches and tearing through the flesh of its lips and cheek. The leader’s yelp alerted the other two who turned away from the pup to help. Har landed on his shoulder and rolled, bouncing back onto his feet prepared for another charge.

  
The other two burst at Har, their back legs low to the ground, bounding and yelping as the leader limped away to nurse his wound, resigned from the fight. Har took his cloak and twirled it around, wrapping his left forearm, creating a shield of sorts, holding the dirk in his right. The two attacked simultaneously. The one on the left snapped at Har’s cloak shield aggressively. The one on the right wary of the dirk, nipped cautiously at the air.

  
The left dog caught Har’s cloaked arm in its mouth at the wrist as Har came down with a swipe of the dirk to the base of the dog’s skull, killing it instantly. Its limp mouth dropped Har’s arm before the bite could do any damage. The right dog gained confidence with Har’s back turned and lunged. Har spun around to shield himself with his left arm and pulled his right to strike, but the dirk was imbedded in the left dog’s skull and it didn’t budge.

  
The right dog grasped his cloaked arm and pushed Har back, biting and twisting. Har crouched to maintain his balance as the dog drove him back, snapping onto the arm, which was still sore and bruised from the fish. Pain seared as the clamping jaws squeezed where the fish had squeezed, but the teeth did not break skin. Har launched an uppercut to the dog’s neck, which stunned it, stopping the bite, and then jumped onto its back with its head in a choke hold.

  
The dog swung its body wildly, snapping and clawing at the air in front, turning its face trying to catch Har’s. Har clenched his arms and body together, closing the dog’s airway. Yelps turned to wheezes as the dog fought for its life.

  
The leader looked on as his acolyte struggled to breathe. Defeated, it cowered away into the brush. As it turned its back, Lem charged, nipping at its back legs, yelping. The leader yelped back, subordinately, and dashed away.

  
Har let the right dog go and shoved it away. It cowered, whimpering, then turned, looking thankful, as Lem chased him off to follow its leader. Har couldn’t kill it, especially after the leader had abandoned it. Sooner or later, the right dog might wander into his camp like Lem had, and he had grown very fond of his craven companion.

  
The threat gone, Har dropped to his knees, exhausted and looked under the cloak. His forearm was a swollen purple mess, but none of the bites cut through the skin. He could barely move without it feeling as if it might break off, but the bone was as unbroken as the skin, and soon he’d heal, as he’d healed from the fish, Xenus, the jungle cat, and would heal from the eyeless men and catfish.

  
Unmaimed and still breathing, Har sighed and laid back into the tangle of roots, vines, and sand that made of the ground below him. He looked up into the sky to notice the sun moving past its summit, descending into dusk. Lem bounced over and licked his face.

  
“Good boy,” he said as he closed his eyes. Still hungry, he thought of the fish he was cooking, the fire still burning behind him. I’ll need a moment. Lem curled up next to him on the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, this is basically "noodling", but again, I try to make the need for food something that is a constant antagonizing presence in this world.
> 
> The pack of "dog like things" represent the threat of animals here, but also give Lem a backstory as a young pup driven out of his family, which parallels Harwin's story somewhat.
> 
> Let me know what you think.
> 
> Thank you. Thank you. Thank you for reading.
> 
> HS


	12. Chapter 12

12

Before his eyes closed for the evening, Har forced them open, scratched Lem behind the ear and shook his face awake. The fire crackled and popped like a beast sneaking through the woods, its light gleaming red in the shadows of dusk, waiting to finish cooking the fish.

  
He cooked it and shared it with his pack mate. Lem had grown bolder, his old pack defeated, and the young pup’s growing bravado was evident as Lem stood more confidently at the fire, waiting less patiently for his share of the meal.

  
Har ate three pieces, sharing three with Lem, and stashed another two larger chunks in the pouch. He reminded Lem not to fuss over the pouch with another, “No!” and stashed it. After the fish, he drank the wineskin empty, re-filled it, boiled, and left it to cool.

  
The dog on the left lied on its side with the dirk still stuck at the base of its skull. He wrenched it free and slid it across the front of his tunic to clean the blade. Then he pondered the fate of the body in front of him. Should I eat this or use it to fish?

  
If he used it like Xenus, he feared the catfish would pull the bait free and make off unscathed, uncaught. If he ate it in front of Lem, butchering and cooking his old friend, would he scare him away? Would he turn cannibal? The only thing Har was certain of was that he could not waste the food or opportunity for more.  
“Your thoughts? Would you eat your friend, or brother most like?” He stood over the body and nudged it with his boot as he asked Lem. The dog looked at his former kin, nudged it with his nose and yelped to Har in he took as approval.

  
“Done.” Har began to butcher the fallen dog as Lem nosed in a few times for scraps. “If I die, I hope you’re not this eager to eat me.” The look on Lem’s face said that he wouldn’t be.

  
After harvesting meat, hide for leather ties, and a crude pelt, Har left the carcass to Lem who enjoyed his former mate disturbingly easily. As Lem ate, Har cooked a flank for himself. As the piece simmered over the fire, grease crackling, it reminded him of the first time he’d ever eaten something strange on a voyage.  
White Harbor was a port city full of culinary options if you had the coin. As an orphan boy though, he couldn’t ever expect much more than a bowl o’ brown or fish. Fish was never scant on White Harbor, even to a poor motherless bastard like himself.

  
On his third voyage across the narrow sea, the Captain treated him and Lem to a meal with a Dothraki horse lord intent on acquiring Dornish wine. The inquiry was for such vast quantities, the Captain feared the Dothraki met with ill intentions and would sooner pillage his trading galley for all its wares then pay even half of what the Captain need ask for barrels and barrels of Dornish Red, so Lem and Har would stand to the sides of the Captain, longswords on their hips, to instill the proper amount of respect for the short and stout sailor.

  
Lem had been a large lad, some would say, filling out over the years from hard rowing. Har himself was no dwarf, for sure, but both Lem and he were green as summer grass in the presence of a seasoned conqueror like Khal Ghordo and his blood riders.

  
They sat down to sup in a manse in off the coast of Slaver’s Bay within the lands known as the Dothraki Sea. The manse was not owned by the khal but its owner always paid the horselord homage, instead of chancing an attack. Har never met the owner. He heard a year later that Ghordo killed the man despite the homage he had always paid.

  
Within the sprawling stone walls of the compound, little adornments dressed the walls and rooms other than a golden horse that reared up from a circular fountain. Ghordo received the Captain and his small host to a show of beautiful pillow slaves from Lys and meal of horse flesh and exotic colorful fruits. The khal was a stout man, looking as though he was once formidable and brutish but softer and well past forty years. Bronze skinned and black haired, his face was square and full. His mustachios hung down from the corner of his mouth like onyx spears, straight and pointed. His hair, receding in the front, was oiled and braided into a tight thin rope that hung down onto his lap. Tiny bells in his hair jingled as he walked, singing of previous victories. He wore simple tan roughspun riding clothes with a leather vest embroidered with stallions facing each other on each lapel. His blood riders stood around him, shirtless and muscled, their arahks poised on their backs, eager for any small slight.

  
The khal greeted them as they entered seated on a stone chair draped in a long silk red cloth ornamented with a golden representation of the Great Stallion. He rose, took one step, and addressed them from the raised dais the stone chair sat upon.

  
“Captain Harrus,” he said with a deep low growl of a voice, “I am pleased to see you. I have made a meal for us. You bring wine to taste? I must first taste of this wine before we agree you to take it.” The khal spoke the common tongue well enough. Most Dothraki would never stoop so low to learn another’s tongue, but Ghordo was less than a typical Dothraki khal. Much of his time he spent spending the plunder’s of his youth as opposed to expanding upon them. He had grown fond of western comforts, especially culinary, and sought out traders and merchants more willingly than other khals. The Dothraki way spoke less of buying and more of taking, so when Ghordo said, “take” in the common tongue that usually meant to purchase or trade for. When he meant take in the usual sense, he used the common word, “win.”

  
“It is an honor to sit with such a splendid khal. We have brought our last barrel of Dornish red for you and your people to enjoy while you wait for us to bring you the rest. This barrel will cost you half as much as the others, as a gift from me, your humble servant.” The Captain lied in every deal he made, though Har trusted him the better each lie he told. It was not their last barrel of wine, nor was it Dornish. Dothraki knew not of the distinctions between Arbors, Dornish, or northern wines no more than they knew the difference between a Dornishman, a Redwyne, or a northerner. All the Dothraki knew was that the taste of wine was far sweeter than the rancid fermented mare’s milk they usually filled their cups with. And the price the Captain asked for this barrel was twice what he would sell it for in Westeros. The Captain even wanted to profit off the negotiations.

  
The Captain’s company included himself, Lem, Har, and three other rowmen from the trading galleys Much and More which the Captain commanded. The Dothraki host consisted of Ghordo and his three blood riders. After pleasantries were exchanged in the make shift throne room, Ghordo escorted the Captain to a large solar converted into a dining room with a simple oaken table surrounded by pillows instead of chairs. Silk draped from the high ceiling to give the effect of wealth, but the Dothraki knew not of decorations, and the streamers hung flaccidly like torn rags in mute colors of tan and brown. The women were dressed in finery, but less like noble courtesans and more like common whores, without golden jewelry and in linens crudely cut. The Dothraki hosts sat on one side of the table, with Ghordo at the head, whilst the Captain’s party sat across, the Captain next to Ghordo.

  
Food and wine were served by the women, and little was said by anyone other than the Captain or the khal. Har and Lem tried not to drink the wine, though Lem couldn’t help himself. The rest drank as much and more, fittingly.

  
By the time the horse was served, Har had become so hungry he had not thought to balk at the offering. Har was a man of the sea but loved horses as far back as his mind could recall his childhood. He never rode in White Harbor, but whenever he saddled up, his body knew what to do as if he had learned before he could remember. The thought of eating one troubled him when the Captain first approached him with the details of the meeting, but once the meat started to sizzle roasting on the pit, and his nose smelled the cooking grease, he proved a very gracious guest, accepting and engulfing the meat as it was passed to him.

  
Horse flesh, much like this dog’s flesh, was tough and greasy, but lightly salted, it far surpassed the taste of salt beef or salt fish Har condemned himself to for savings sake. Tender juice filled bites sang on Har’s pallet that night so much so that he almost convinced himself to forsake his cheap ways, but the rest of the night’s events proved to sway Har back.

  
After the food was served and the wine was began to run out, Ghordo and the Captain stole away to a private room with two of the women to discuss the particulars of the deal. Four women remained to entertain the rest of the men at the table, though they scarcely stepped toward the Dothraki side.

  
The three bloodriders were the true strength to their khal, now a mere shadow of what he must’ve been. The bored look of disgust and anguish in the new khal’s lavish pursuits seemed etched in the stone faces of horselords across the table. They ate the meat and drank the wine, but they only discussed amongst themselves and rarely looked to the Captain’s party for more than a mere glance in judgment. Armed with only arahks and whips, they sat begrudgingly through their ordeal bound by honor to the “blood of their blood,” not to escalate the peaceful soiree into a more amusing celebration of steel and blood, though Har sensed they desired nothing greater.

  
Har studied the men across the table incase their sense of duty changed. Of the three, each looked as different as Dothraki could look. One seated to the left was the eldest bloodrider. Balding with a few wisps of jet black hair that crossed from one side of his head to another, his face was drawn with bags and lines under and around his dark eyes. His body was shaped like a wedge, broad at the top tapering down to thin gaunt legs that didn’t look like they could carry him far afoot.

  
The man in the middle was short and shaped like a younger version of Khal Ghordo, square faced and thick. His hard features even resembled the khal somewhat, though the khal’s were now soft and rounder. Soft would be a poor word to describe this man’s physique however. What he lacked in height he more than made up for in solid girth. He looked younger, clean shaven of face with the sides of his hair shaved, his braid tight and hanging to his mid chest.

  
The right most Dothraki was less traditionally Dothraki than the others, more like Ghordo. Wearing women’s coloring around his eyes to accent his long eyelashes and manicured brow, his comely bronze face was garnished with golden rings that pierced through his skin. He wore an ornate beard, more similar to a Tyroshi, forked and thin, but still jet black. His leather jerkin and vest were studded with beads of black onyx in the shape of an arahk on his back and horses rearing and facing each other on the front. Of all, it seemed he was most comfortable living as his khal had chosen to. He had been the only one to even feign a smile.  
The four remaining women spoke Dothraki and the common tongue, though they lingered more on the common side of the table. They danced, clinking flat brass discs on their fingertips to add music to their movements. Each girl had a sash across her face to hide her nose and mouth, but their almond eyes, painted like the comely Dothraki, peered over the sash in sultry amusement, shaking their hips to the jeers of the Captain’s party. The Dothraki stayed silent as they watched though their mouths agape, almost drooling.

  
Har stayed silent as well. He felt girls were more than just a man’s entertainment, and distracted, he could do little to stop a Dothraki arahk.

  
As soon as the Captain and khal excused themselves, the women that remained went into a synchronized dance. Each girl wore a different color. Blue, gold, red, and green. Lem focused on the girl in green. The silk of her gown clung to her curvaceous figure like it had been painted on. Her bare chest and midriff was a pale honey, sprinkled with flecks of a golden glitter that made her skin shimmer as she moved. Her light chestnut eyes had similar flecks of gold that simmered as she squinted lustily at Lem, whose comely face seemed to entice her as much as she enticed him.

  
As the other girls danced around the table, the girl in green jumped on top of it, winding her body towards the end of the table where only Lem sat, furthest from the head. He stood to greet her with large hands and built arms as she slid down into his embrace, clinking her finger symbols and batting her eyelashes. They began their own private party, whispering and laughing to each other back and forth.

  
As Lem and the green girl continued, the middle Dothraki stood up suddenly. He spoke to his companions and stormed over to Lem. As the girl and Lem kissed, the Dothraki grabbed Lem by the shoulder and pulled him off of the girl in green, to mount her like a horse, ripping at the green silk to expose the rest of her glittering skin.

  
Both sides of the table jumped to their feet. Lem pulled his longsword from its scabbard and presented it, in a defensive stance, showing much more chivalry than the Dothraki had. Har was surprised Lem didn’t immediately attack. “Sers, no, we are here for pleasure,” the girl in green said in the common tongue, as she swatted the groping hands away as best she could, half dressed and covering her breasts with her free arm. She spoke in Dothraki to her attacker, pleeing something guttural to him, which he replied with a short burst of sound, ignored her and continued with the rape.

  
“I will not stand for this,” Lem called to all that could hear. “Draw your weapon and we can fight to see who wins her favor.” The Dothraki heard the tone in Lem’s voice and turned. Whether he understood the common tongue or not, he understood the meaning all the same. He pulled the arahk from behind him and poised for a strike as the two other bloodriders bared their own steel.

  
Har pulled out his longsword first, followed by the other rowmen shortly after. The girls in red, blue, and gold scattered, running into the manse as far as they could from the inevitable conflict. The girl in green, still somewhat beneath the thick Dothraki, shuttered in fear.

  
“You would die for such a pig as this?” The Dothraki responded, lifting the girl in green’s arm up as to signify the specific pig he mentioned. She tried to pull away, but the viscous grasp around her wrist was inescapable. “I’ve fucked better horses.” With a downward stroke, the Dothraki severed the girl in green’s arm from her body and flung it at Lem. Blood shot from her shoulder like a fountain, mist sprayed over Lem’s tunic and face.

  
Without hesitation, Lem lunged at the stout man with a thrust from his longsword. The arahk was quick enough to parry and the two began to dance, clashing steel between their hands like the girls had with brass. The other Dothraki flanked to support their companion while Har jumped over the corner of the table to cut them off, his longsword drawn. He started parrying blows from his left and right as the comely and elder Dothraki screamed war cries, their sharp curved arahks humming through the air. The remaining oarsmen hesitated, then ran around the table to attack the two engaged with Har from behind.

  
The comely one turned to meet their advance, crouching low and cutting the legs of all three oarsmen in a swift deft twirl as ornate gold rings bounced from his arahk and face. Blood whooshed in a faint spray as all three men fell, still alive, but wanting no part in the battle that ensued.

  
Har took advantage of an opening as the elder Dothraki raised his weapon for a brutal downward swing with all his weight. Har quickly poked through his neck, the sword escaping out the base of his skull, and as the elder’s life left, his body fell backward with the weight of the arahk.

  
As soon as the elder hit the floor, the comely one was on Har, whirling in circles as the arahk hummed past with a high pitched whir. Har parried each clash, but the weapon moved so quickly, he couldn’t help but to retreat as fast as he could, stepping and jumping back with each swing around. Lem and the stout man came into view, their steel matched well, strike for strike. Each man gaining and giving ground equally.

  
Har felt the tides turning against him as the blade of curved steel sang its circular song and a wall came behind and stopped his retreat. He turned and knelt as the Dothraki’s back spinned, catching the strike with his longsword in the curve of the arahk. The force of the swing recoiled the curved blade back, bouncing away for only a half a heartbeat, giving Har enough time to slide his dirk out with his off hand and plunge it into the Dothraki’s exposed ribs. The comely man studdered back, maintaining his balance as best he could, coughed up blood, wiped his mouth and smiled. “Good,” was all he said, and he continued to fight.  
He stopped twirling to swing the arahk more conventionally, but the speed that had almost overwhelmed Har before slowly waned with each strike, the dirk still inside the man’s side, draining him. Har caught an overhead right slash with a two handed straight parry and twirled his sword around, relieving the Dothraki of his weapon. The arahk flew away as Har swung across the Dothraki with the sword, cutting him in half at the waist. His comely face smiled truly as his torso slipped off his hips and fell onto the table, blood gushing up and out of the still standing legs.

  
Har turned to see Lem and the stout man locked steel to steel. “Stop this!” He screamed. “You are kin to the khal, yes?” His plea as forceful as any command.  
Holding the arahk against Lem’s sword, his eyes staring into the Westerosi’s, the stout man replied, “I am his brother’s son and blood of his blood.”  
“Then stop this madness the both of you.” Har stood with his sword in hand, but down as to look less a threat.

  
“Har, this man cut Lyra’s arm clean off for nothing other than to be noticed. Let me kill him and be done with this,” Lem’s eyes never left the Dothraki’s, though they back away from each other, their steel still held up at the ready.

  
“You name this sow as if she is more than meat. Fuck her for all I care. Win her arm and pleasure yourself as you leave. But this is my bitch, my property, and if you did not win her as you did, I would not have felt the need to correct her. She forgets who owns her from the top of her head to the bottom of her hooves. That pig is mine to do whatever I please!”

  
The three oarsmen lay bleeding on the floor next to the elder Dothraki hunched in a pile of limp body coated in a pool of his own blood. The comely man’s legs fell near the table as his upper half fell on top of it, blood spilling over the table’s edge in a thin waterfall of gore, blood and his entrails dripping and dangling.  
The commotion or finished trade discussions brought the khal and the Captain back from their private room to see the mess of butchered humanity strewn across the floor and table. The two girls saw the carnage. One retched and the other ran screaming.

  
“What is the meaning of this?” the khal said, much more calmly than Har expected.

  
“Your nephew wanted to mark his territory, like a common mongrel, cut the girl’s arm off and challenged Lem to combat. The other’s took up swords and I came to Lem’s aid,” said Har, fearful of the wrath of the horselord.

  
“It was your Lem that challenged me. He said we could fight for the bitch. A bitch that is mine. He meant to win her from me and I could not allow such,” replied the stout man, less authoritative now that his uncle was back.

  
“You tried to rape her, pulling me away as we were enjoying each other. On my honor, I could not stand by to watch this man despoil such a fair maiden,” Lem retorted, beseeching the two leaders’ acceptance.

  
“Fair maiden? This is but a whore in silk. You presume you show honor? You show a lack of common sense, or any sense for that matter,” replied the Captain. Then he turned to the khal, “Your most graciousness, it seems without us here to watch the children, they have spoiled our good fun. Let me offer you the wine we brought as a gift and on the morrow I will send gold as repayment for the men you’ve lost.”

  
Everyone in the room studied the khal as he stood silently, seemingly contemplating his response to the Captain. “Was it your five against my three?”

  
Har replied, “These sots were all subdued with one stroke by that one,” he pointed to the body on the table. “They all yielded after the first cut. It was Lem and I against the three of them.”

  
“Who slain Nishoho?” The khal pointed to the elder.

  
“It was I.”

  
“And you also slain Rahkko? You cut him as well?” he pointed to the still smiling face of the comely man.

  
“Yes.”

  
“Captain Harrus. I accept your wine and will not pay you for more. Dornish red seems to come with red blood as well, and for that I thank you. I will not ask for you to pay for my men. It was their life to win and your man here has won it from them. Dothraki who lose in battle need not be paid for. It is their loss, not mine.” He turned and addressed Har, “To have killed such formidable foes, you must be good ser. Nishoho and Rahkko were two of my best. Captain Harrus is good to have you beside him.”

  
As Har bit into the dog, he could see the look on Lem’s face. Not the dog in the jungle, but the sailor at the manse. He tried to remember that stupid smile he had after that night talking about Lyra, who he managed to sneak out of the manse and onto the ship. She died from infection later that year, but Har still tried to picture that stupid face.

  
The only face he could picture of Lem’s was the last look before the sea took him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite possibly my favorite chapter.
> 
> These vignettes of Harwin's past will help further characterize who he was, who he is, and who he will become, but the fact is, I love a great sword fight/battle, and a lot of my favorite parts of the book moving forward are going to be these types of scenes.
> 
> Let me know what you think of the battle, Lem (the human), and anything, as I struggle to settle on if my style in writing these fights is too ultra specific, or if the specificity helps the reader visualize the fight as I am trying to portray it.
> 
> As always, I thank you for your time and effort in reading this. Hopefully by now, the OC's grown on you enough to care what happens next.
> 
> Stay tuned.
> 
> HS


	13. Chapter 13

13

Har and Lem woke to full bellies and smoldering coals. They slept in the open, near enough to each other, but on opposite sides of the fire. The wineskin was still full of boiled water. He drank it until it was empty, filled it, and boiled the new water over the simmering embers. With a wineskin full and a leaf pouch full of dog and fish, he and Lem set back out into the Sothoryan wilderness.

  
The morning sun seemed to shine through differently than it should, but the queer happenings in this new world had become more and more commonplace. What direction is the sun rising from?

  
This far south, the forest thickened. Trees grew closer and closer to each other as trunks and branches jostled for space. The mountain range shaded the western edge of the forest during the day, and Har figured it would be a cooler journey, so he made his way gradually toward the range, and also the rising sun?

  
The trees here wound themselves over each other, each tree jockeying for position in the sun’s light. The vines of smaller shrubs twisted up the trunks of tall thin trees like thin green snakes, coiling up the gaunt grey limbs as high as the canopy. Bushes or shrubs grew sparsely if any were to be seen at all. The jungle floor was tangled with roots and vines and littered with crumbled fallen leaves. Beneath him, the floor rose and fell like the ground were frozen waves, covered in dirt and dead greenery. The gradient of the floor rose subtly as he walked nearer to the mountain range, and before long, the river was out of sight and behind.

  
The cover of the canopy hid the sun, as the morning waned into the afternoon, Har and Lem trekking onward with little to speak of other than jests on which of Lem’s remaining friends would taste best.

  
Har marked trees in case he got turned around as the two traveled for most of the afternoon into the early evening. They stopped to rest at the sight of a small clearing Har spotted through the dense trees. A small circle of light shone through the trees onto a circular patch of grass topped with an arrangement of large black stones, like seats or benches, in a circle to match the grass.

  
The arrangement was clearly man made, as no natural arrangement could be so symmetrical. Har hadn’t thought of the clearing as a potential hazard until seeing the stones in formation, though now as he looked, a sinking feeling in his stomach reminded him of the ever present danger of this place.

  
Before he stepped into the clearing, he paused, crouched down, and studied the area. Lem was not so patient. The pup bounded into the clearing, yelping back at Har, beckoning him to play, running around the stone circle in a circle of his own, his back legs lowered to turn more quickly. He bounded and yelped to Har for approval, which he did not receive. Har looked away from Lem for half a heartbeat then heard a terrifying yelp and whoosh.

  
When he turned to look, Har saw Lem caught in a snare, dangling from the limb of a tall tree. Stupid dog. Har quickly scanned once more then ran to his friend to soothe the wildly yelping, swaying dog, thing.

  
“Easy buddy. Easy. . . Let me see how to get you down,” Har followed to rope up to the branch and around the tree to see where it had been fastened. The rope was attached to a wooden mechanism he had never seen before. When pressure set it off, it recoiled, pulling the prey up into the air. “You ready?” Har asked, the dirk poised to cut the rope down, which would send his furry friend crashing to the floor. Lem ignored him, bending and snapping at his ensnared leg trying to break free.

  
With a swift cut, the taught rope snapped and Lem tumbled to the forest floor. With a thud and a yelp, he limped over to Har in more humiliation than pain. Har scratched behind his ears to reassure him and gave him a piece of fish. “We both need take more care here. As we travel onwards, we must be ready for anything.”

  
Impatient and admittedly fearful, Har quickly drank some water, shared dog with Lem, and continued whatever direction they had committed to. At this point, it was hard to feel certain.

  
Before long, the forest grew darker and the evening was quickly upon them. Har would’ve thought the clearing passable for an overnight camp before Lem got caught, so in a way he was thankful, but the presence of another group of people unnerved him. Beasts, ghiscari, and eyeless men had been more than enough thus far. The stories spoke of cannibals, savages, and the like worse than all the peoples of the known world. But the stories spoke of apes the size of the Titan of Bravos, standing lizards the size of aurochs, and blood drinking bats the size of wolves as well. Maybe that’s all they were in the end. Stories.

  
As Har and Lem slowed their pace to find a suitable place to camp, rain began to fall through the canopy. First the drips felt soothing. The whispers of drops on the leaves were a pleasant tune for a change. He gulped the rest of the water in the wineskin and tried to catch the pure rainwater as it fell. He looked for an overhang he and Lem could use to shelter themselves from the downpour, but with the trees so tall and thin, rain still fell through without impediment. And without shrubs and bushes, there were no places to hide underneath the brush, so they’d have to be wet for a while.

  
As the sun set, to where he thought was east, the darkness swallowed the forest save the yellow orbs in the canopy. The slow trickle of drops grew to a steady pattering, the rain thickening as the dusk turned black. Har called Lem over to huddle together for warmth. They shared more dog. Lem nosed the pouch to which Har replied with a weak, “No,” and the two nestled up against the thickest tree they could find. Har pulled the crude dog pelt over them for warmth.  
Both turned and tossed most of the night, pulling the pelt back and forth between them for cover. Every time Har grew close to sleeping, another huge droplet crashed into his face jolting him back awake until it would happen again, and again.

  
As steaming hot as it had been in this new world, the rain soaked travelers felt the biting chill of night for the first time. Har was saturated through his cloak, clothes, and into his bones. The skin on his fingers shriveled to pale prunes and his limbs began to shiver uncontrollably. Lem looked to be faring no better, himself a waterlogged mess of grey shag and black spots, his eyes drooping pathetically.

  
They slept little and less through the night. Har barely closed his eyes long enough to dream. As light began to stretch through the canopy in thin beams the next morning, none were strong enough to brighten the grey sky or warm the cool mist that surrounded them.

  
The ground a field of slop, the sky still leaking buckets at a time, Har and Lem rose if only to get off the muck and mud. The rain still poured for the remainder of the morning as Har shared more fish with Lem, drank from the wineskin and held it out to catch more. He continued to walk onward, not knowing where he was going or when the rain would stop. He started moving, stretching one leg out in front of the other to occupy himself. Walking had become a way to keep warm or to keep his mind off of how miserable he was in the storm.

  
In the distance, he heard thunder rolling. Here and there a bright flash would lighten the forest around him as the grey bleak sky still filtered what little light from the sun shone through. It felt like midday, but it was as dark as dusk. The colors of the forest all turned a muted brown or gray, the vibrant hues all faded in the bleak storm. It was interesting to see the forest’s reaction to time of day and weather. It felt alive as he and Lem strode through it, though it looked to be suffering as much and the two of them.

  
As they walked he could see the local element struggling as well. Birds sat under leaves cowering from the rain as if it were acid. A troupe of monkeys swung from the trees looking for a dry place to rest, though all they found was a hollowed out tree and the leader refused to share his refuge. Water started to rise up from the ground as mudslicks and new streams ran through and around the walkways he and Lem were forging through. The rain flowed down incessantly since the previous night when it had started.

  
With nothing to say, little left to eat, and walking the only distraction from the downpour, the two covered miles and miles of ground. Before long, the day was half gone, and Har and Lem had only stopped a few times; once to eat a few bites, once for Har to relieve himself, and another time for Lem to drink at a pond that had formed from the deluge.

  
When the day turned to dusk, Har reached into the pouch for another bite of food. There seemed to be enough fish and dog for a day or two between the two of them, so he threw Lem some fish and ate a piece of dog. Well hydrated, the skin was filled with rainwater, but he couldn’t gulp any more down for a while. He was sick of water for the first time in this place. It continued to pour down from the dark grey sky.

  
Har looked up. The forest began to thin as they journeyed toward what looked like another clearing. Their path hugged the foot of the mountain chain to his right as they had trekked since Har jumped out of the burning halls of the cave of the eyeless men. He wasn’t sure how far west it must have been at this point, but based on what he thought he knew they could have journeyed twice as far south as they had before, one step at a time trying to distract themselves from their miserably drenched existence.

  
A familiar smell found Har’s nose. That can’t be right. Could it? He and Lem walked toward the forest edge. They reached a cliff, roots and vines all a tangle at the edge, the rock covered with a green moss that was probably brighter without the rain and grey sky. As Har looked over the cliff and into the horizon, he faced two realities which simultaneously sobered him and sunk him, his heart deep down beneath his chest and falling lower.

  
He gazed out off of the cliff and into the Summer Sea. The sun was setting to his left, west. In the waves, he saw a fleet of ships. I was going north that whole time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So to clarify, Harwin initially wants to travel south, away from the coast and the beings he's met so far.
> 
> While underground however, he comes out of the "cave/tunnels/cavern" on the other side of the Zamoyos and travels back north.
> 
> He was turned around, keeping the river on the same side as he'd been on it, but I try to put in the clues that he's turned around (the mountains on the other side of the river, the sun setting/rising)
> 
> Let me know, if you'd like, what you think.
> 
> Thanks again.
> 
> HS
> 
> p.s. Next chapter, we meet another character that speaks (not that Lem, the dog-thing isn't enough, but let's get to some dialogue)


	14. Chapter 14

14

_I dove out of the cave of the eyeless men and ran to the river. The same river. I went the same direction and ended up in the same place I started. How?_

  
Har sat at the edge of the cliff searching his mind for answers. How? He seemed to keep asking himself. How?

  
From the cave, he went straight to the river. From the river, he turned right and kept going. If he was north now, then he must’ve gotten to the other side of the river, but how? He remembered the strange feelings he had on the journey. Things that should have looked familiar: like the forest as soon as he re-entered it, the river bank, and the horizon across; didn’t. Things that shouldn’t have looked familiar: like the mountain range; did. When he was in the cave, the eyeless men must have taken him underground, below the river, and kept him in the dark in a cavern on the other side. As he puzzled the pieces together, he felt even luckier to have escaped. Enormous as the cave must have been.

  
How did Lem get to the other side then? He looked to his furry companion. “How’d you find me back there?” Lem sat next to Har at the edge of the cliff, the rain still falling, and licked his face. “You either love me like none other or you’re so damn greedy you found me and brought me the empty pouch to fill it for you.” Lem panted and smiled.

  
With a hand on his true friend’s head, Har looked into the ocean at the fleet of ships. There were five, one in the bow of the fleet, followed by two that flanked the leader and three that brought up the portside. Each sail flew the markings of what looked like a Harpy. Ghiscari returning to deliver the steel.

  
Har scanned the coast to see the edge of the river delta not too far to his left. True west now that he had corrected his bearings. Some strange sense of honor and duty rose from his sunken heart. I am meant to be back here. It is fate, not misfortune that brought me back. To go forward, you must go back.

  
As Har turned west toward where he’d seen the beasts last, his head filled with logical questions like How will you tell them? Will they believe you? What if you’re wrong? Each question, each thought should have stopped or slowed his strides. With each new question that popped into his head, his legs raced faster past the jumbled trunks and over the slick wet vines as quickly to the river as he could. A bolt of lightning flashed and lit up the whole forest for a heartbeat. A huge boom of thunder followed, rolling through the forest and rumbling in Har’s heavy breathing chest. Even the ground shook.

  
He knew the danger in revealing himself to the beasts. He had known it since first setting eyes upon their tree downing crew. As a silent sneaking scavenger, Har had thrived in anonymity. It was one of the most logical reasons he kept moving south through the forest instead of settling, but as days in the jungle had turned into a week, he’d have to start getting used to everything this place was. And everyone that shared this place with him. What better way to introduce myself to my new neighbors then warning them of an ambush? Har convinced himself there was no better way. That and that this was his destiny.

  
After the red woman and her babblings about prophecy, kingdoms, and destiny in Qarth, Har had been fully convinced of the validity of the priestess’s message and its validity. The crash completely reversed his initial conviction in the prophecies however, as the great seat she promised and he hoped for, the Iron Throne, was unobtainable ship wrecked on the coast of nowhere with no way back home. Even now, he knew the seat she promised wasn’t in Westeros, and never was supposed to be. Maybe his destiny was here. Maybe, this is what he was meant to do. Who he was meant to save.

  
As he raced through the greenery, hanging vines and low limbs a blur rushing past him, his boot lost its grip and he slid reeling to the ground. The rain soaked forest floor had little and less traction as he descended back down the grade toward the river bank. He rolled, tumbling down and to a quick halt. He sat up quickly at the edge of a thick bush hiding his view of the forest in front of him.

  
He gathered himself and stood. Through the percussion of falling rain, he heard a commotion up ahead in the thick foliage. A voice. A Distressed voice.  
He crouched and scurried through the cover of brush, still hiding, though moving with a purpose. He circled around the noises until he could make out the silhouette of a fallen tree. It wasn’t the beasts work, the cut was too messy and high up the trunk. A sharded stump, standing a foot taller than Har, stood naked and shortened by an act of the gods. Man size splinters jutted up from the crack where the top of the tree exploded off, like a staggered crown atop the head of a wooden king struck down in defiance. The top of the tree lay on the forest floor, the broken shards at its bottom singed. As the tree fell from the lightning strike, it collapsed onto another tree crushing the limbs of one and leaning against another. The fallen branch was the length of a small cog and the girth of a river lizard. Its twisted shape looked like a demon arm grasping at the air in the faint grey light through the clouds as rain continued to pour. As Har looked around the damage, he heard the faint sound again. It reminded him of finding Xenus.

  
He heard another wimper. He ran to where he thought it was coming from. From under the fallen branch.

  
Water and sweat dripping in his face, he kept clearing his brow and vision with quick swipes of his soaked hands. He called out to the sounds with a universal greeting. Hello. It seemed to stand in for, but Har’s Valaryian was lost in his racing mind. In response, he heard what he remembered learning as Help and looked down underneath the fallen log.

  
The victim was wet and brown, glistening in the relative dark in a thick smearing of mud and silt as a shallow but violently stream flowed over the body and around the face until it might as well have been submerged. The victim struggled to breathe as bursts of running rain flowed past the victim’s head and shoulders, the body stuck underneath the fallen limb at the waist, writhing in apparent agony.

  
Har stepped to the log, grabbed it with both hands, bent his knees low and tried to lift the branch with all his might. It budged, for a heartbeat, and fell back down, forcing a painful grunt out of the victim’s mouth, still struggling for breath. Har tried again. It started to rise, then his hands slipped in the rain and mud and the branch fell back onto the victim again.

  
The downpour was too loud to softly speak and hear, so Har yelled, “It’s too heavy to lift. I’m going to have to dig you out.” He said it in the common tongue, so after he said it, he wondered why he even bothered, but his body was just doing at this point. He didn’t really spend any time thinking. There wasn’t time to waste.

  
He crouched down and got into the mud next to the victim. Frantically, he started clawing at dirt, roots, mud, and rock, scraping the victim free. He could feel the cuts and blood, mud caking into his open wounds and fingernails, but he didn’t care, continuing to dig for life. The rushing rain pushed him back as much as it could, flowing by him with pounding bursts of mud and grit, water gushing into his open mouth and nose as he tried to breathe, but nothing could keep Har from saving this victim. He had no way of knowing who or what he was saving, but the flailing arms and long hair were no monkey or jungle cat. He was saving a person’s life. A life he hoped would be thankful.

  
As Har continued to dig, he could feel the victim’s body wriggling free. “C’mon, keep moving! Just a little more. Pull yourself out, here, take my hand. Pull. Pull. PULL!” He didn’t know if he was commanding the victim or himself, but as he reached out his hand, another hand met his, soft to the touch and losing strength.  
Har pulled the body with everything in him. Lem yelped behind him. Har had forgotten about the furball. He barked and yelped as Har pulled and pulled. He felt the body budge, move subtly, and then shot out under the branch as he pulled it free enough to slide through the mud and free.

  
As the body was freed, he fell back reeling. The momentum of the sliding body falling over the top of him. The victim rolled over him and he could feel the soft skin slide of his face as they tumbled. He couldn’t hear a noise from the victim until he heard a desperate gasp for air, then a sigh of relief.

  
“Are you hurt? Are you okay?” Har said in Valaryian as he approached the sprawled body, the forest still dark from the clouds, canopy, and rainstorm.  
He reached out his arm to help the victim up. Its body face down in the mud with its face to the side to breathe, covered by long thick auburn hair. The body rolled and the face turned.

  
She reached up and grabbed Har’s hand replying in Valaryian, “You saved my life.”

  
Her palm was soft and smooth. The rest of her arms and around her face were covered in hair thick as the forest. “Thank you.” She was a female beast. At least she was appreciative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another character!
> 
> Read more for the rest of who she is and why she's important.
> 
> Thanks as always.
> 
> HS


	15. Chapter 15

15

“Are you hurt?” Har asked, her hand is his, lifting her off the muddy forest floor, rain still peppering them from the grey canopy.

  
“No. Yes. I can’t be speaking this speak. I only know to speak very small.”

  
“I only know to speak very small as well,” Har replied, trying to match her inability with Valyrian. He was surprised to have found a person in the known world that spoke the language worse. “Where did you come from? Where are your people? You are bleeding. We must heal you up.”

  
She looked at him befuddled by the words in her ears, but her eyes were mesmerized by him standing there in front of her, almost at an eye level, drenched in rain, cloaked with a jungle cat’s pelt, and next to a dog, thing, sitting on his haunches with its tongue out, smiling.

  
Her lips spread, her cheeks lifted, and her bright white smile of carnivorous teeth widened across her face. Most of her face was bare flesh, framed on the top and sides with a thick pelt-like fur in a shade of auburn red. Her one brow spread across the bottom of her forehead like her male counter parts except thinner, like a red brush stroke with sharp edges. Her eyes were wide, trimmed with long wispy eyelashes. The rain beaded on them like crystals. Their color was a deep azure, with flecks of a pinkish red he’d never seen in a set of eyes or anywhere but the sunset. Her mouth was softer than the male beasts. Her lips fuller, but her jaw grew with the same underbite and her incisors jutted up past her top lip in a similar although more feminine way. Her nose was more muzzle, though it still resembled a person’s nose somewhat. Despite her size, she had a dainty shape to her face and high cheek bones that seemed to frame her eyes more cat like. As Har studied her, she studied him, even going so far as to reach out and touch his face. Her fingertips barely brushed against his skin, starting at his brow and sliding down to his cheek. She felt the bristle of his grown-in stubble. It poked her and she jumped back startled.

  
“You are not a man from Ghis. You look . . . Valyria.”

  
She wasn’t the first to have told Har that he looked of the Old Blood, as broken as her Valyrian was. His mother told him as a child. He had her dark hair, his father’s strong jaw, and his grandmother’s purple eyes. Everyone knew Valyrian eyes.

  
She smiled wider. As she waited for her answer, Har quickly noticed the rest of her. She had a female body. She wrapped her breasts and lower half with vines, or rope, twisting around her similar to a tokar one would where in Mareen or Yunkai. It didn’t require the constant holding in place though, as the strips of plants tied so tightly, they clung in place. Her back, arms, and legs were covered with the same pelt-like auburn hair, though her underside was skin like her face. He tried not to notice, but he could see the swell of her breasts, fleshy and full, and the vines did little to hide her. There was something disturbingly erotic to see her, shaped exactly like a beautiful woman but colored with the fur, fangs, and size of a monster.

  
Although interested in learning more about the beast, he was in no way sexually curious. Though he could clearly see the feminine qualities and near beauty she possessed, Har had still yet to sleep with a human woman, avoiding brothels and wharf wenches the best he could throughout his youth. He had known a few girls enough to kiss them, play with them, but a sense of honor kept him from taking their maidenheads. The first woman to have ever earn his true devotion was a red priestess and sorceress he wished he’d never have met at all.

  
The looks she gave him though. . . Her eyes smiled as wide as her mouth as she looked him up and down. Har was well built. Sinew enough for brute strength and flexible enough for dexterity. His stomach was flat from years of forced fasting, and his arms were chiseled from years of rowing the seas. As the rain dripped down his tunic, his wet clothes clung to him, cloak and breeches too. She could see Har’s physique, though fully clothed, as if he wore nothing at all.  
He looked down at himself, then up at her. “You’re bleeding.” He pointed at her side where the tree had scratched her thick pelt. “Here. Blood. We need to clean it. Its covered in mud. Where are your people? Your home?”

  
She shook her head, her mouth closed feigning confusion. She shrugged her furry shoulders and turned her head slightly, looking down and to the right as if she was thinking of what to say.

  
“I . . . I am having crown. I can’t be speaking this speak. Come you and eyes . . .” then she broke into the guttural language he had heard in the forest. She spoke quickly in words Har could not even begin to decipher.

  
He broke in, “I can’t be speaking this speak, either. How about this? What is your name?” He pointed to her, “Name?”

  
“Name?” She asked herself. She muttered to herself in her native tongue and then, “Ah. Name. Name this one is having is Nahknani.” She pronounced it NAHK-NAH-NEE. It was savage and beautiful, like she seemed to be. The rain began to slow down as the sun, close to setting, peaked through the grey sky with a sliver of purple light. She pointed to Har, smiled in amusement at herself, “Name?”

  
Never had a simple question been more complicated in Har’s mind. Name? made the question of who Har really was seem so simple. She didn’t ask him, “What do you call yourself?” or, “What do you go by?” or, “What do others call you?” She just simply asked for his name. Did she mean the name he was given at his birth? Did she want the name he had gone by all his life? Or was this the chance for Har to reinvent himself?

  
He had been known to those he’d met after his mother’s death as Harwin Snow, The Bastard’s Bastard. His mother, Sarah Snow, was the bastard daughter of some Stark that left for the war and came back too late to stop her from fleeing from his father’s family. His mother never elaborated on who his father was other than some hero, but deep down Har knew. He stopped believing it until the Red Woman confirmed what his dreams had always told him.

  
To hear his mother tell it, a dragon prince flew down from the sky and won her heart before the Dance. He had loved her, truly. They were married in the godswood of Winterfell in front of the Old Gods Har prayed to as his own. But after his mother’s death, anytime he brought up the stories she’d told him as a babe, he was shot down as nothing more than a common orphan. Inside, he knew different. Inside, he clung to the truth, but after years and years of elders casting his lineage aside as if it were no more than a lie or, worse, a death sentence, his young mind started to forget what he knew. Or forsake it.

  
The red woman was the only one who believed in it. Believed in him. And he never even told her a word of it. She had known. As he once did. Little good it did me, though. My lineage was my crew’s death sentence.

  
He thought all this in the span of a heartbeat, his mouth open, his eyes wandering to meet hers with an answer. He knew who he truly was, and there was no longer a reason to hide it.

  
“My name is Aegon Velaryon. Trueborn son of Jacaerys Velaryon and Sarah Snow of Winterfell.”  
_The rightful heir to the Iron Throne._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name reveal!
> 
> Nahknani is a great character that I hope you will all grow to like/love.
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments. In my summary of the book and as I've tried to promote it, it is no secret that Harwin's/Aegon's parents are Sarah Snow and Jacaerys Velaryon. I even wrote a prologue that I haven't yet included about their union and Aegon's consumation (not explicit, jeez relax, we get to that in Ch 34), but this is the confirmation of who he is, why he's kind of important to the overall History of Planetos/Westeros, and foreshadows some of the things to come.
> 
> Thanks as always
> 
> HS


	16. Chapter 16

16  
Aegon cleaned Nahknani’s wounds the best he could with the water left in the wine skin and used the rest of his other sleeve as a bandage. He didn’t ask to cauterize the wounds closed, though he would have closed his own. He felt it best to not try to burn the female beast without a proper way to communicate why.

  
Lem seemed taken by the girl, as Lem, the human had always been. They could be cousins he thought in jest, but Lem ate his kin. He seemed to warm up right away to her, nuzzling his puppy nose under her hand as if to solicit attention in the normal Lem way. He burst his muzzle into her too gruffly scaring her, then looked up, tilted his head, and guiltily drooped his pathetic brown eyes, pouting his lips as to look remorseful for bumping her so abruptly.

  
At first, Nahknani shied away from his initial attempts. He was a wild animal in her world and as much as the two resembled each other, the beasts were not used to a domesticated animal. But he proved too stubborn and likeable.

  
“You eat this?” She asked in an honest tone, scratching his head behind the ears and stringing together her best Valyrian yet.

  
“No! No no no no no.” He said gruffly, almost offended. “Name.” He pointed at the furry friend on all fours, “Lem.” He kept pointing to reiterate the point. “Lem. Lem”

  
“Lem. We call this hahkyeen or laugh dog.” Her Valyrian was improving dramatically.

  
“Laugh dog, huh. He does seem to chuckle.” Aegon said in the common tongue. He switched back to Valyrian. “Where is your home? Home?”

  
With her wounds dressed, Aegon remembered the mission Nahknani’s rescue interrupted. Luckily enough, he seemed to have found the perfect segway into the proper introduction.

  
“I am not knowing speak for ‘home.’ I no know this.” She said. Her face was very expressive as she annunciated the foreign tongue. It was as if the words gave her more humanity. She gestured with her hands and bobbed her head in rhythm with the syllables in a way that felt Lyseni. As with the Ibbeneese women in White Harbor, she looked a beast in all but manner. Aegon weighed whether he felt her more a woman or an animal. Considering the way he treated Lem, the dog thing, or hahkyeen, she was as human as one could ever be.

  
He thought of different ways to say home. He tried house, hut, hovel (he was glad she didn’t know that). He tried words for settlements like town, city, village. She knew none of them. Then he tried to gesture his meaning repeating, “Home,” and trying to contort his body into the shape of a shelter. He tried to mime a conversation, jumping back and forth as two people, then a third only to look at Nahknai giggling to herself, her eyebrow higher on the right than the left.

  
“I must look an utter mad-man to you right now. By the way, as for those of Valyrian descent, this demonstration in no way should be taken for an example of their norm,” Aegon spouted off almost rambling. He figured it made no matter what he said if she couldn’t understand a word. “In fact, I’ll have you know that not only do I have the blood of the dragon, but the blood of the first men. If this were a “blood” competition and the only criteria for winning was the amount of different cliché’ things you could say about your own blood, there’s not a man in the seven kingdoms, Essos, or even Sothoryos that can claim so many pointless boasts as me.”

  
She looked at him as if he were even madder than when he was miming. Lem sat down next to her, matching his look with one of his own.

  
“If only you could understand what in seven hells I was saying, I could tell you, ‘Hey. The Ghiscari are returning on boats,” as he continued, her face sobered from silly to grave, “five of them to be exact, and big ones, huge, probably carrying enough soldiers to overcome your settlement, wherever and whatever it is. They’ve seen your numbers felling the trees you thought they’d trade for honestly. Three men, scouts they seemed, followed a trail I was on and I heard them discussing your trade deal. They promised you steel, but they mean to give you steel the Westerosi way, they’ll kill you with it.’ But since you don’t understand a word I’m saying to you, let’s just go. You know to speak, ‘Go’?”

  
She understood something. Something more than, “Go.” His mummer’s show of frustration fell on ears that comprehending more than she was feigning.  
“How have you come to know this?” She was playing. Her diction and verb tense seemed better than Aegon’s.

  
“I reached the cliff looking into the Summer Sea. I told you, I heard three men saying the rest are not coming back to trade. They’re coming to kill you or enslave your people. So it seems you do be knowing this speak?”

  
“Yes. It is hard to trust pink people.” There’s some truth to that Aegon thought, a sentiment he also shared in a way. She continued, “You looked a sellsword or worse, a slaver, until I saw your eyes. I’ve never seen purple eyes before. Are you from Valyria?”

  
“No, and does that really matter right now? Don’t you and your people have a home or settlement. We need to warn them. If they are not prepared they have no chance. You b ….” he almost slipped and said the Valyrian word for beasts. “Your people are strong enough to stand a chance prepared, but if they take your settlement unawares, there could be five hundred soldiers aboard those boats. It’ll be a slaughter.”

  
“We have known not to trust the slavers. No men could.” The Valyrian for “man” or “person” rolled off her tongue as she described her own. Playing coy, feigning ignorance seemed even more intelligent that something the Ghiscari might do. Aegon continued to struggle with the expectations he’d had from her appearance and her clear demonstration of everything human he’d ever come to understand. She’s even deceitful.

  
Earlier in the day, when he decided he’d help the beasts, (or native people as he should learn to refer to them in his head), he felt a savior, that his destiny was tied to ensuring their survival. Though he was sure his information was useful, these weren’t helpless animals in desperate need of his saving. He wouldn’t be their shining gallant hero. But with the intellect, social structure, and brute strength he’d already witnessed, their group could be a strong ally if Aegon really meant to survive for the long in this horrible place. And an ally Aegon could easily be.

  
“Yet they come not to give me and my kin anything. We have seen their ships coming to the other side of the river. That territory is my Uncle’s clan. They, in a way, are our rivals.” Their social structure even seemed complex. “My men and I have kept watch of the camp the Ghiscari set up at the mouth of the river. There are six men, most likely the three you speak of are from there. We keep a watch of them to see if they come onto our side. You mean to tell me they come to bring my uncle steel?”

  
“They mean to give him steel. They come in force to conquer and enslave your uncle’s clan.”

  
She paused for a moment, and looked at Aegon. Then she said, “If what you say is true, we must consider informing them of the Ghiscari’s coming and their intentions. If you are half true, and they do mean to trade steel with my uncle’s clan, the steel they trade for they mean to use against us. Tensions have never been higher between the two of our factions, but we are still one people. If the Ghiscari mean to kill them, they mean to kill us too. But,” Nahknani left her statement open.

  
“Are these people at war with yours?” Aegon wasn’t sure she left it open to imply the potential positives of the Ghiscari killing off one of her rivals or if she feared that contact with the other clan would lead to their own conflict.

  
“We quarrel in words and deeds but no blood has yet been shed.”

  
“Do you wish them dead?”

  
She paused again. “If they die, resources in this region would be that the more plentiful. And as princess and part of the council,”

  
“You’re a princess then.” That’s what she implied when she said crown. Maybe she offered it up as to ensure a ransom and no rape. The society in this jungle seemed eerily Westerosi.

  
“In our language it means a very different thing than in the Valyrian we speak now. In my language, I am the daughter of the man that leads our people, but one’s membership on the council, in our world, has little or nothing to do with whose son or daughter you are.” There’s the difference he thought. “I earned my way, like we all did. My uncle was little liked by anyone other than his crew and those he fought alongside in battle. He never earned a leadership role, so he decided to cross the Zamoyos and start his own faction. He cannot sustain much more than a decade or so though, as he has no women in his party. Eventually, father, the council, and I wanted to approach him and welcome him back in with some kind of concession to leadership among the warriors or something . . . why am I discussing this all with you? None of this is of your concern.”

  
“I was running through the forest to make it my concern. I mean no harm to anyone, really. Well, I could easily kill a slaver or two if it came to it, but other than the obvious dickheads, I mean only to do what is right.”

  
“Dickheads?” She asked, twisting her eyebrow again, but less playful and more intensely. Aegon was not sure the literal translation of the Valyrian he learned to mean what he said. “Dickhead, asshole, shit dick, it means whatever you want it to mean. Just don’t say it to the wrong man, especially in Bravos. Especially wearing a sword,” the Captain had told him on his first voyage. It was the captain that taught Har the Valyrian. Most of his lessons on the first voyage were of basic phrases like, “Where can we dock?” Or, “How old are these fish?” When Har asked, the captain promised him one foul word. It was dickhead. “To do what is right? What does this mean, ‘Right’ I have never truly learned this word.”

  
“Your people, do they talk about gallantry? Honor? To do what is right is to live by a code, I guess. It means that when you know you can help someone from being taken advantage of, you do it, despite the risk to yourself. You take that risk knowing that it is the right thing to do.”

  
“It’s tough to fully understand your explanation. You went in a circle. It sounded like you said, ‘To do what is right is to do something because it is right. You mean to say that you helped me because this is right?”

  
“I helped you because you needed help. Basically, it is that simple. The reason it needs to be explained is because so many people would have let you die.”

  
“Indeed. So, my uncle, you believe he is to be taken advantage of?”

  
“I believe he is to be killed.”

  
“When I first looked at you in the skin of the jahkyar, I thought you were him. There was mud in my eyes, so looking quickly, I only saw the spots. If it had been him, I would have thanked him and forgiven him for his transgressions. I would have formally invited he and his men back. This is what I was thinking for just a moment until my vision cleared. Then, I was seeing you, and all of my uncle was forgotten.”

  
“If you are willing to forgive, what could it hurt to find him and tell him of the Ghiscari?”

  
“What could it hurt? It could hurt every part of the both of us.” She smirked. “But if I am understanding, despite that, we must still do, as you say, what is right.”  
Together, with Lem by Nahknani’s side, they ran through the remaining forest towards the river. Nahknani knew where both the rest of her kind and the Ghiscari were camped so she navigated directly towards her uncle.

  
She had a grace in the way she ducked in, out, and under the foliage. Barefooted, her gait naturally slowed and quickened as the hilly terrain moved under her, a rolling sea of vines and roots, it was as if she was an extension of her surroundings. Her feet resembled his own, not paws with claws, but feet and toes, just covered in a thick pelt, and grotesquely disproportioned. Aegon’s own feet were probably just as horrible after running in the rain and muck. Now that he thought about it, he was in a poor position to judge.

  
When they reached the bank, she looked back at him, “How did you cross?”

  
“Unawares. Have you encountered a people that dwell in caves without eyes? They took me from an opening in a cave on that side of the river,” he pointed across the brown flowing water as it rushed by faster than Aegon had ever remembered. “And I escaped through a similar cave on this side. I followed the river in what direction I thought was South and ended up back here because I did not know I was on the other side.”

  
“You were taken by eyeless spirits that dwell under the earth? You were taken to the dark hell and eaten a bite at a time?”

  
“As I said, I escaped, but, yeah. They were pale, gaunt, eyeless, bald. They shrieked when I lit a fire and were seemed to be hurt by the light.”

  
She looked in awe. “This is the Irahk you speak of? We tell our children stories of them to keep them away from the caves though we believed them to have all died generations ago.”

  
“I may have killed them, but I started on that side and ended up on this side. To answer your question, I do not have a way across other than to cross. I found him at the entrance.” He pointed to Lem, who sat on his haunches the way he did, listening to the two of them. “You should ask him how to cross.”

  
The two looked at the breadth of the river, Lem behind them much less tense. It was narrow enough to cross though Nahknani was as worried about the killer fish as Aegon was and had been. She called them peerahnah. She also warned not to let any water into his mouth or eyes. Those diseases. Aegon wished they had been sailor’s tales.

  
Aegon suggested building a makeshift raft to try and ford across, but it would take too much time to risk falling in anyway with such a swift current. Nahknani suggested Aegon knock down a tree and use it to cross, but Aegon reminded her that he was not a male of her kind, and that he could only break a sapling down, maybe, which would neither be wide nor long enough. So again, it came back to getting into the river.

  
“There’s an expression in Westeros, Ladies first.” Aegon wanted to continue his lessons of gallantry.

  
“There’s an expression in my tongue, Chik kahk ah nahn ihk chu tu du. It means, men will do for a woman what needs be done or he is no man at all.” She smirked.

  
“There’s no such saying, I wager.” He could read her well, as he could read most people.

  
“No. But I still think it to be true.”

  
Aegon turned to the water and stretched his legs. He didn’t want to cramp up in the middle of the river or he wanted to delay one last time. He primed his lungs with a few quick breaths, then long ones to allow for the maximum breath. If he couldn’t get the water in his mouth, it would be best not to breathe until he reached the other side. Though it wasn’t more than twenty feet across, there was no way to know how deep it was. He asked Nahknani, who said it wasn’t deeper than their waists, but the tone in which she said it felt like a guess at best. He feared she had never done what they were about to do.

  
He sucked in as much air as he could and bounded into the river, sprinting until the rushing water rose to his chest and he could only walk with his legs and paddle with his arms. The water felt cool, pushing past his already wet body, and the current was strong enough to take him if he didn’t plant each foot firmly into the soft silt at the bottom. He heard Nahknani splash into the river behind him. She shrieked as if back in character from earlier, and chased after him, making so much noise from frantic movements in the water, any fish in the vicinity was sure to investigate. Aegon unsheathed his dirk, turned his back toward the current, and held the blade flat against his chest to avoid accidental stabbing of himself or his traveling partners.

  
He turned to look at her progress, himself only five feet away from the edge. She twisted her lips and brow, disgusted with each step, holding her breath as he was. Aegon remember feeling the bottom of a lake for the first time a child and the face he had made. The mushy goop squeezing between toes. The slimy slippery bottom coated in algae or seaweeds. It was the face she was making now. He chuckled.

  
He looked to the river bank for Lem. Where is that cheeky bastard? He was nowhere to be found and must’ve abandoned their journey across for a better way or easier food. Aegon saw movement in the water upstream. It wasn’t a riverlizard, Aegon had been keeping a close eye on the banks for signs of them, and they were too large to hide their entire bodies in this small a section of the water, but there was something making its way toward them. Toward her.

  
A sleek grey triangle cut through the water like a stunted sword. Aegon turned and waded toward Nahknani, holding the dirk so close to avoid an accident, the blade nicked him. His eyes shifted from the fin to hers. Her blue pupils widened in confusion; still holding her breath.

  
Progress was as slow going back, especially without the use of both hands to propel his upper body through the current. The fin slid closer, inching its way toward Nahknani. Aegon gestured his head toward it for Nahknani to see, but she couldn’t understand.

  
Running out of breath and time, he turned his back to the current again, blew out his mouth to clear the water that had dripped onto his face, yelled, “Shark!” as quickly as he could, and gulped a small chestful of new air. She turned and gasped herself, then turned upstream, saw the shark, her pupils expanded wider and she turned and scurried even more frantically to him.

  
It turned away for a heartbeat, the spun back toward them and darted. As the fin knifed through the current towards them, Aegon reached out his left hand for Nahknani. Her fingers barely slipped into his palm as he grabbed her, pulled her past him, then turned and stuck the dirk straight out, the hilt firmly against his sternum to ensure a sturdy hold. He felt the pressure of its bite strike into the blade, sending a shock wave throughout his arm and chest that jolted him back and almost off his feet. The water in front of him splashed and churned wildly, then red swirls mixed into the brown, flowing down around and passed him. The fin turned, flowing with the water as Aegon realized the weight of the shark pulling the dirk downstream. His new breath beginning to failing him too, he bounded back to the far bank, pulling the heavy dirk as he felt Nahknani pulling him.

  
She reached the bank first, crawling up the shallow shore, gasping for a fresh breath and rolling onto her back. Aegon reached it shortly after, his face swollen, he felt it was blue, and he sucked in air as well. The shark on the dirk was much smaller than he thought it would be, though his arms were as tired and sore as he could ever remember. Running and the rain had taken his mind off the pain in his arm from the catfish, but he could feel it now as he relaxed, laying back into the soft sand next to Nahknani on the edge of the water. He could feel the aches in his legs from the running. He felt the sting of the dirty water on his cuts from the killer fish and the jungle cat. His skin crawled as he thought of the sicknesses that lay on him, the infectious beads of horrible deaths that dripped off his brow. He felt disgusting. But alive, which made him smile.

  
He didn’t intend to lay next to her, but he was. His hand was near hers in the sand. She reached for his. Without knowing why, he jolted his hand away. He tried to mask it by shifting into a position that made it look like he was getting up anyway. She wasn’t as shy as just that.

  
She reached again, grabbing his wrist. He dropped the dirk and propped himself up to look at her as she did the same, with a different look in her eyes.

  
“No.” He said curtly. “I do not mean to offend you but I do not want to do whatever you think I mean to.”

  
Her face sank. “All you pink men want nothing but to fuck.”

  
“Not I. I have not yet fucked and I don’t mean to start now. I do not mean you ill will, nor do I find you repulsive. I can understand the offense you must feel but I ,” cannot lie with a beast. He thought. I can accept this being as an equal, but not as someone I could. . . fuck. He remembered his youth, talking with some of the harbor boys about stupid kid things. One posed the question, “Would you ever fuck a woman from Ib?” Some said they would. Some said they might prefer it. Aegon could never. He was interested in the way that they looked in the same way one might stare at a festering boil. Nahknani was as close to beautiful as a member of her kind could ever be to him, but he felt as likely to sleep with an Other as he felt he’d sleep with a beast.

  
He could not lie with her. But he could lie to her. “I am promised to another. I will only sleep with her.”

  
She paused. She seemed to pause often. “And you refuse me because this is right?”

  
“Yes. Now you’re getting it.”

  
They smiled at each other as Aegon let out a sigh in his head. A moment later, Lem came from the forest on their side of the river but downstream.

  
“I told you to ask him how to cross.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nahknani is much more than she originally seems.
> 
> She is cunning, smart, and has an advanced sense of politics for a "savage beast."
> 
> One of the themes of my book is that people, no matter their appearance, are just people. The next chapter goes into this thought a little deeper, but Aegon will come to learn about the Brindled Men, their culture and society, and their greatest threat as the story continues.
> 
> Aegon and Nahknani's conversation of "what is right" and his fake betrothal show his "white privilege" and his old style of thinking, or at least as it pertains to his attraction to the Brindled Woman. This will be explored more thoroughly as we continue, but this is basically the starting point for his development in how he sees others, especially those that are different.
> 
> Hope the shark scene was fun. Let me know what you think.
> 
> Lem. Sneaky bastard.
> 
> Thanks again
> 
> HS


	17. Chapter 17

17  
Aegon quickly butchered the shark meat as Nahknani searched the nearby foliage for plants she claimed could sanitize them after their tromp through the disease-ridden river. Lem chewed on the shark’s head after Aegon cut out the spine, looking up to see where Nahknani was.

  
“She’s your new favorite, huh boy?” Lem yelped in agreement at Aegon’s question or as he found Nahknani through the thick brush at the forest edge. He trotted over to her and sat on his haunches, watching her. Lem the human would have been just as taken with Nahknani. He would have definitely fucked her if put in the same position as Aegon was. He would probably pursue the opportunity if he hadn’t, as something to brag about in other ports. Lem was always up for a conquest.

  
She brought back branches from a purple bush Aegon had seen many times in his wanderings through the forest. She peeled the leaves and ground them down in her furry hands, rubbing them together. The leaves quickly produced a clear cream that glistened on her bald palms. She stepped to Aegon and rubbed his exposed skin from his face to his shins. Then she spread the cream under his clothes at the edges where the skin may have been vulnerable. She rubbed his chest under his tunic, his shins under the legs of his breeches, his arms under what was left of the sleeves, and reached for the top of his breeches. Aegon’s hands moved to stop her at first, though he did not want to further offend his traveling companion, so he allowed her hands to reach down at the waist band of his breeches and spread the cream on his hips, the small of his back, and pelvis.

Her hands behaved and didn’t wander further south than they should have, though as she touched his skin, she caressed him softly, which made his body react in a way he did not fully agree with.

  
“It is good you do what is right, because it seems you may want to do what is not.”

  
She returned to the forest edge and came back with more branches to show Aegon how to harvest cream for himself. He picked the leaves and folded them as he rubbed them together in his hands. She had much more exposed skin and fur, wearing only the vine tokar, so he continued to churn the leaves in his hands as she spread what remained in her hands on herself.

  
She rubbed it into her arms and shoulders, only the tops covered with fur. The cream was surprisingly easy to create as the leaves seemed full of the clear semi viscous liquid. His hands were glistening as he finished, and he began to spread the cream on her back for her.

  
Her back was covered in thick auburn hair. It wasn’t as bristly as an animal’s, feeling somewhat like a human’s hair in texture, but it grew in so densely there was very little skin to see. He rubbed it in, ignoring the sensual innuendos she tried to throw his way. He lost focus, thinking of other things they should consider before meeting Nahknani’s uncle; like what to say, how to prove his truth, and if the beast would just kill him for being near his kin, and continued down her back to her waist, brushing his hand against her exposed hairy buttocks.

  
“Grab it,” she said softly, still stuck on achieving carnal relations with a Valyrian. “I saw you grow when I rubbed you. You don’t have to always do what’s right.”

  
He ignored her the best he could, spreading the remaining cream down the back of her exposed legs and smearing the last of it on the tops of her furry feet.

  
“You’re back’s all set. Seems you can reach the rest of you. I’m going to fill the skin with river water so that when we settle for the night, we can boil it to drink.” As he turned to the river, she frowned and grabbed more branches from the ground and started to pick off the leaves.

  
He filled the skin and turned back toward Nahknani and Lem where the riverbank became the forest floor. She quickly harvested the cream and started to the spread more on the front of her, focusing a lot of her efforts on her chest and between her legs. She’s as persistent as Lem would be. Too bad he’s not here to meet her. He’d give me a break from her advances.

  
“We must get going if we are going to warn your uncle with enough time for it to matter,” he said, ignoring the way she rubbed herself and the faces she was making. She’d make a good whore or courtesan. Not that I’d truly know, though.

  
“Fine then. If it’s only risk of death and talk with men you want, I can oblige. Are you sure you aren’t a man that prefers to be treated as a woman?” she said, wearing a triumphant grin as soon as the words passed her lips.

  
“I’m sure. Make sure your uncle doesn’t come on to me as strong as you, though. In Westeros, it is much more offensive for a male to solicit sex than a female. I will not turn him down as politely as I have tried to be with you.”

  
They made their way toward where Nahknani believed her uncle’s camp to be. She said he would want to find a water source and stay on higher ground, most likely up a tree. Her kind were extremely adept climbers, she explained, and he and each of his warrior clan would have found separate trees within close proximity to each other to stay in. Aegon may have passed underneath their temporary settlements many times as he skulked through the brush of the forest floor. Aegon thought of the pool with the killer fish and wondered if it was her kind that made the forest sway that first day. It couldn’t have been. Even her kind would not have bent a tree like that.

  
The forest grew darker as they wandered through it. Great, as soon as its dark, this woman is like to come on to me again. Aegon realized this is what a beautiful woman must have felt like around Lem with the constant nagging for sex.

  
“We should stop for the night. We will find nothing in the darkness but death,” she said. She sounded like the red priestess. The night is dark, and full of terrors. “You can make a fire?”

  
“The fire attracts in the dark. Whatever is out there is like to come at us. I’ll start a fire, boil the water, and cook the shark, but after we’ve made use of it, we should put it out.”  
First, they looked for leaves. Almost every leaf on the forest floor was still drenched, but underneath a thick upper layer, certain sections of the floor had dry leaves underneath or near dry enough to eventually catch, so they bunched them in a small pile. Then they found some kindling and stacked it on top. She built the fire the same as Aegon without either of them saying a word, until he pulled out his flint stone and dirk and began to strike it for sparks.

  
She twisted her eyebrow again, “This is how you make fire. Are you not blood of the dragon?”

  
“You thought I would breathe it out?” He laughed to himself. She could understand me when I was ranting about how special my blood was. “We do not live as dragons, though it is said Valyrians have close blood ties to them. I am not pure blood of the dragon and have never seen one myself. It is said the last of dragons is dead or dying. All that is left are the people with purple eyes and silver hair.”

  
“Your hair is not silver.”

  
“I’m not pure blood of the dragon.”

  
“When you were talking before you said you had first blood. What is this first blood?” She asked.

  
“The blood of the first men. It is something people say where I come from. You know of Westeros?” Aegon was almost sure she wouldn’t be. People of Westeros knew as little about this place as they knew about what was east of Essos or west of Westeros, and the people of Westeros had traveled to almost every corner of the known world. How could her and her kind know anything other than what they have seen?

  
“I know of Ghis and the Summer Isles, you call them. These are the peoples that have been seen by my people. Talked and fought with my people. We know there is more out there, but we care not. It is sometimes enough to know what is right in front of us. So, no, I do not know this place other than that you are from there and have told me Valyrians still live.”

  
“Only a few that escaped the doom. Basically, one family of Valyrians are all that is left, save the few families that mixed with their blood,” he continued.

  
She interrupted, “As with you. Your blood is mixed. What or who is it mixed with?”

  
“The people who lived on Westeros before Valyrians or even Andals,”

  
“Andals?”

  
“Not important. Those men that lived there first were called the first men. In fact, they didn’t live there first, but they were the first men.”

  
“Who lived there first?”

  
Aegon felt this history lesson contrite coming from a man like himself, an unconventionally taught sailor. Aegon learned as much as any lordling from the Captain in his own lessons as a youth, though most of his history lessons specifically were spent glossing over the facts to illustrate great battles or poignant moments the Captain enjoyed telling. Aegon’s knowledge of the history of Westeros was as easy to explain as, “First, there were beings called the Children of the Forest and Giants. Then men came, killed most of them, and claimed the lands for themselves.”

  
“These beings you say. If not men, what were they?”

  
That was as good a question as anybody had ever cared to ask. As Aegon thought of the creatures men now knew as the Children of the Forest and Giants, they were no more or less human than Nahknani’s kind.

  
“They were not pink men. I guess that is what is meant. They were different.”

  
“Different men live all over this world. Even our world has my people, the eyeless Irahk, there’s the brown men of the Summer Isles, the golden skinned Ghiscari, the pink men of Valyria, like you. In the south, there are the flesh eaters, and bug people. The slavers speak of all types of peoples we’ve never seen. All are men, as you say. What makes a man first if he is not there first?”

  
“Hey, I agree with you the way you put it, but I didn’t write history. Those that do are usually not kind to those who lose wars or are different. Sometimes the wars were waged because the differences and nothing else, but I did not write it down. I couldn’t tell you why those men were first or why they called themselves that.”

  
“You should write it then.” If Aegon ever returned to Westeros, he’d be sure to consult with the citadel as much as they were willing to listen to a sailor’s tales.  
The kindling and dry leaves caught, amusing Nahknani more than his purple eyes, and the two sat across from each other in the warmth of the flames roasting chunks of the shark. Lem sat as patiently as he could, waiting for some scraps to be thrown his way.

  
The meat was fattier than he expected, and the sweet taste of cooked fish satisfied a building hunger his interactions with Nahknani had distracted him from. She bit into the piece vigorously, attacking the meat like an animal would, ripping at it and chewing with her mouth open. Her face looked pleased with the meal. Aegon threw Lem some leftover catfish and hahkyeen.

  
After eating, he boiled some water, drank it with Nahknani, and put out the fire. Aegon found a bush to crawl under for the night as Nahknani sprawled up a nearby tree with ease. Lem followed her to the trunk of the tree, yelping as she ascended. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lem. May the dark be kind.” He drooped his ears and returned to Aegon under the bush, curling up next to his second favorite.

  
There was no additional pressure for sex from Nahknani as they departed each other’s immediate company for sleep, a welcome relief, though Aegon liked the attention somewhat. They were still within shouting distance if something needed to be addressed, but having some time to himself pleased Aegon. It was nice to have someone to talk to other than Lem, but his experience with the b. . . woman had left him much to think about.

  
As the sky and forest darkened around him, the dancing light bugs began their show. He gazed into the blur of the dotted black canopy as he drifted off into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot I like here. I like the conversation on who Aegon is, his lineage, and what "First Men" means to a woman who is not considered a "regular man" hearing about how the First Men, who weren't the first humanoids to settle an area call themselves first.
> 
> There is a white privilege in Aegon's understanding of who he is and who she is, and this conversation is the first of many steps to help him understand that he is not (either now or later) going to be the "white savior" so common in stories like this. She, though very different, is not just a "beast" and it helps color the theme of race and acceptance that continues throughout the story.
> 
> Nahknani is of the Brindled Men, which in The World of Ice and Fire and the Wiki of Ice and Fire, are described as Brindled Beasts. This is similar to someone describing the Children of the Forest as "Leafy Freaks" or the men and women of Ib, as "Walking Pigs." In the fantasy realm of Planetos, these humanoid peoples are just that, different cultures of people, and Aegon, at first, is seeing her and them as most "white" people do: as "other."
> 
> What he is starting to and will later find out, is that they are nothing more or less than people. No better or worse, no more or less civilized. No more honorable or evil. Just people, and each person should be judged according to their character, as a famous and great man once said. Whether he wants to lay with the woman is another issue entirely. Remember as you continue, she is savagely beautiful. Initially harsh but even more so captivating and pleasing to the eye.
> 
> Even if they she's a bit hairier than normal.
> 
> Thanks again. Let me know what you think
> 
> HS


	18. Chapter 18

18  
As his eyes closed, he saw the ocean, vast, rippling, illuminated by the crescent moon just above the horizon in the dark sky. There were no stars, only the moon and its reflection rolling on the surface of the water. It moved more slowly though, like pitch, thick and black. He could almost feel its slickness.

  
At the water’s edge was a river bank. The sand covered only a few feet before grass and rocks dominated the terrain, though he could barely make out more than shapes in the darkness. At the edge of the water stood a silhouette looking out into the horizon. A warm red light emanated off the shadow until he could recognize the shapes as a female figure. Her red hair simmered like the embers in a dwindling fire, glowing warm, attracting Aegon to her like a torch an insect.

He floated to her, surrendering to the heat she gave off. Her body became more visible as he drew nearer. The naked shape of her calves, ass, hips and lower back stood under the thick sheen mane of crimson hair, covering her shoulders in a smooth waterfall of red silk, glowing in the darkness around her. She stepped away from him toward the water, dipping her toe in, then stepping into it, her gaze ever forward. He continued to float, thinking of the last time he saw the red woman.

  
That now fateful day. It was in the basement of a port shop, lit by a few candles, she stood in front of him promising him glory and a throne. “You do not know who your father was?” She said, tracing the lines of his palm with her fingertip, gently holding his forearm with a warm soft hand.

  
“My mother always said he was a hero. A prince. Those that raised me taught me better.” He felt a certain comfort from her heat. The fire burning in her eyes saw through him and he knew. He had felt lust before meeting the red priestess, though successful in overcoming his urges. It helped that most of the girls he met in harbors and ports were whores or toothless anyway, but the few beauties that preyed upon him had only wanted to further their own station or escape their realities for an evening. He liked neither motives and soon grew less than enthusiastic about sharing beds with women like that. The red priestess was different. He would have done nothing but take her if he knew she’d let him. Though it was only the Red God she lusted for, it seemed.

  
“Your father was the blood of the Dragon. Fire made flesh. Fire made man. He was no true born heir as they say, which makes you none the more an heir than it did him, but the realm knew him as Prince of Dragonstone if their colors were black not green. Though your blood is Strong, it is still the blood of the Dragon. You have king’s blood.”

  
“So who the hell was my father then if you know. You speak as if you want me to think you know, but you’re speaking in riddles.” And I can’t focus on your words when your lips look to taste so good. “I enjoy your company, truly I do, however my business is to move on from this port as quickly as a man with a boat can. I appreciate you bringing me back here, but I believed your intentions a bit different than they seem to be. Excuse me, my lady. My exquisitely beautiful lady.”

  
“But you must be going now? Back to Westeros to sell fish and spice to the people who lifted your uncle up wrongfully to your throne? To the land who worships the queen, your kin, that hunted you since your birth like a rabid mongrel to be put down? You are the blood of ice and fire. The son of wolves and dragons. The rightful king of the seven kingdoms.”

  
“Little good it does me. Even if I had lived all my life as if to win back my throne, who would care? Who would believe the Bastard’s bastard was something more than an upjumped merchant captain who made his fortune in stolen gold?” Somehow the glowing stone around her neck left him feeling drunk, slipping words out his mouth that never should have left. There was a sense of knowledge in the fire in her eyes, crackling with gold and amber, seeing into his mind and through his darkest secrets. The lust he had for her only intensified as her full lips kept forming words of his importance and destiny. She was the first person to have ever believed in his children’s tale, and she knew of it without him even as much as thinking about in front of her, for he had long forgotten the truth. In fact, she knew more than he, seemingly verifying facts impossible for anyone to know. Though somehow, he knew her to be true. She didn’t ask of him anything but an audience. She had nothing but her prophecy to discuss. No business. No passage. No sex, unfortunately. Just prophecy and mystery.

  
“Your journey will turn you towards Asshai. There you will turn toward your destiny. A true king. Beloved by many, feared by more. You will ascend the dragon seat and fly further north than any other by soaring further south than any can go. I do not know the end of your journey, Aegon Velaryon, but I know that it doesn’t end in here in Qarth, turning back for Westeros. Below the shadow you must go for Ice and Fire seek to know.”

  
In his dream, he floated to her. Her rhythmic chanting echoed around the empty air in a low sultry hum, as he could see the thick liquid rising up her naked skin, her body sauntering further deeper into the water until it was up to her shoulders. Her hair, glowing red, floated at the top of the black, fanning out and illuminating the blackness around her like a flame rising from the water. She never looked back at him as he reached the bank and returned to the ground.  
He looked down at his bare feet and the edge of the black liquid. It wasn’t water. It moved like it was solid, wiggling more than flowing, as the subtle waves just rolled in, never crashing. The ground was cool on the bottom of his feet, and though he wanted to join the red priestess, he feared the water inherently, his bones ached as he thought to step into it.

  
He looked up at her as she dipped her head into the water, then whipped it out again, flinging her hair back, covered in pitch, violently, sensually. Then she turned, her face black, covered in tar, the light from the moon behind her casting a shadow on her features, the light from her hair extinguished. She waded through the thick black pool back toward him, her eyes dark red, missing the gold and amber, her pupils sharp, black, and cat like. Her posture changed as she lifter her hands. The black tar drooped into long curved black clawed paws, her back hunched as she grew crouching over him. Rain began to fall and a bolt of lightning flashed behind him, illuminating her now ferocious face, the tar sliding down off her jaw, revealing the muzzle of a jungle cat and teeth and jaws to match. All her red hair faded to orange fur, as the beast lunged at him slower than reality. He tried to cover himself with heavy hands that moved through the air as if it were the pitch below him.

  
He closed his eyes and turned.

  
Then he woke, opening his eyes from the dream. He gasped in fresh air and took a heartbeat to gather himself. Still under a bush, he sat up initially and scratched his face on a branch. He shook his head, turned to see Lem covered with the hahkyeen pelt, and crawled out from his bush to take a piss. He thought of how weird the dream he had just woken from was, as he tried to remember how it began and couldn’t. He always had dreams, he remembered, but he rarely remembered them once he woke up.

  
Faint light from the horizon was beginning to leak into the forest as he looked around it. The leaves on the trees started in the same dim colors they fade to as night fell, but as the light filtered in, they seemed to absorb it and fill out. The bright hues he’d grown used to flowed through the veins of the leaves visibly as the forest became alive with color, brightening the foliage from the canopy to the vines and roots of the forest floor. He smiled.

  
From behind him, he heard the crunch of leaves and twigs, even roots as weighty loads dropped from the high branches above him. He turned to see three of Nahknani’s kind, males, standing with thick staffs, thicker than any spear he’d ever seen wielded, poised to strike. He turned back, running from them as another three dropped from their branches in front of his path holding the same thick blunted branches. He turned left to more dropping from the canopy. Turned again only to be completely surrounded. He stopped and raised his hands. The universal sign of, “You got me.”

  
Another even louder, heavier drop came booming behind him again, sending vibrations through the forest floor he could feel. He turned to see the foreman, jungle cat headdress on, walking toward him, his broad chest furry and bare, chiseled from a hairy stone. His arms were thicker than the thickest legs he had ever seen on a man, brindled in striped fur and almost as long as he was. He stood so much taller than Aegon, he felt a boy in his shadow, as his massive jungle cat head blotted out the rising sun. His eyes were stern and cold, steely grey with flecks of blue that looked more ice than sky. His mouth was frozen stiff, his teeth yellow and grinded sharp on all edges. A thick scruff framed his face like a beard, though most of his face was covered in fur like hair, brindled, with that one thick, furrowed brow.

  
Aegon didn’t know what to do for one of the first times in his life, especially his new life since the wreck. He’d fought the most fearsome corsairs, Dothraki horselords, drunken Bravosi, and even an Ibbeneese with Lem once, and never had he ever feared the outcome. He’d lost before, there was no doubt, though he never entered a fight in which he feared his opponent despite size, reputation, or prowess. The mammoth in front of him looked unbeatable. Toothed and clawed like a beast with the intelligence demonstrated by Nahknani, the incredible brute strength to break trees with blunt rocks, and the dexterity and quickness of a nimble monkey. Nahknani he remembered. She’ll drop down to correct this.

  
As the foreman walked toward him, Aegon waited for the woman he’d traveled with. As he drew neared, she never descended. He thought to call out for her, but was she there? Would that further inflame the clan of beasts in front of him? He tried to erase beasts from his mind as he referred to Nahknani’s kind, but he met these before meeting her. These were beasts. Though he thought if they are of an intelligence like Nahknani, they’d maybe listen to what I have to say. They haven’t killed me yet and they surely could if they wished.

  
He waited to speak, hoping Nahknani would make her appearance. She never did. He stepped to only a few feet in front of Aegon, who stood still frozen with his hands above his head. Aegon addressed the foreman, “Good Ser.”

  
“I am no knight, pink one. I am Chieftain Ootrahk the Mauler and you are on our lands. What brings a man of purple eyes to our lands? You are far from home, Valyrian.” These people seemed fixated on the Valyrian and purple eyes thing.

  
Aegon felt relieved to hear the man speak. He feared these men might follow a “kill first, ask questions after” tact in foreign relations and was pleased to answer his question. Though her presence may have helped, the fact that Nahknani was not here changed nothing of his plan. If he hadn’t saved her in the forest, he would have eventually sought this situation out, for it was the foreman who needed the warning he had come with. How he would take it, Aegon did not know for sure.

  
“What brings me to you is the ships I saw and the men I heard. A few days ago, after you loaded the trees on the Ghiscari ships, I encountered three Ghiscari still left behind as they were following my trail.”

  
The foreman cut him off, “These Ghiscari are of our concern and not yours. Again. I ask you why you are in my lands? Why you are trespassing on my territory?”

  
“These Ghiscari were following my trail to make sure I didn’t ruin your trade deal. They bring you steel for the trees, yes?”

  
“Again,” he said, “that is NOT YOUR CONCERN!” he roared, snapping his jaws at Aegon as he finished.

  
“They said they would bring you steel. But not for you to use but to use against you. They come here to kill you. There are five war galleys full of what looks like up to five hundred soldiers. They know your numbers and seek to enslave you or kill you. The Ghiscari are slavers and the man they spoke of is known as the worst in the known world.”

  
“Zlatan zo Xuxus,” he said. His voice quieted. “He comes back here to enslave my people, yes.”

  
“That is what brings me to your land. I mean you no ill will and will leave if you command it. I come to warn you of his return and intentions.”

  
“And you believe I must be warned of his intentions? As I said, he comes to enslave my people.”

  
The situation started to become clearer. “And you’re going to let him?”

  
The foreman stood there, looking at the concern on Aegon’s face, studying it, crouching down to Aegon’s eye level to get a closer look. His imposing frame loomed over Aegon, the shadow darkened the whole forest it seemed. He grunted out a breath from his nostrils and stood back up, still looking down. The he grinned. “I’m going to lead the attack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another dream.
> 
> Nahknani is meant, in some ways, to mirror Ygritte. Wild, savage, red headed, beautiful and not perfectly so, and from a completely different culture. 
> 
> The Red Priestess, or Red Woman, mirrors Melisandre in many ways (obviously) and can even be considered her, if you'd like. She is not the exact same woman, but as in the books and show, many of the Priestesses are similar and two from the show resembled what this one is said to look like.
> 
> Part of Aegon's backstory is becoming clearer, yet there is still much more to learn to fully understand who he is and why he's here.
> 
> Uh oh. Ootrahk! Be fore warned, however, as things are not exactly as they seem. Do not be surprised if in 27 Chapters, you aren't rooting for this Brindled Man.
> 
> You'll see. Just follow and trust the process. I'd love to hear what you think.
> 
> Stay tuned.
> 
> Thanks
> 
> HS


	19. Chapter 19

19  
Aegon looked around him. He counted fourteen beasts in his immediate vicinity, all bound with hulking muscles, covered in course striped pelts, filed fangs, holding half pointed spears in hands twice the size of his. They stood over him unthreatened, almost lax, paying him as much mind as a shepherd a sheep, prodding him to where they wanted him, unshackled and still armed for the first few moments of his capture.

  
They all seemed male, though Aegon was no expert, each much larger than Nahknani and much uglier. He felt he could tell by just their brow, for Nahknani’s was a thin brush stroke while the males’ were bushy, thick, and protruded out inches away from their face. Many looked more monkey than man, but they all carried themselves like an army, walking in rank and deferring to the males with more painted markings on their bare chests.

  
Two beasts were soon put in charge of Aegon, as far as he could tell, and neither had markings on their chest which he presumed meant they were of lower rank. The foreman sternly ordered them something in their language and soon after, walked back toward the middle of their crude encampment. Then, the two novices stripped him of his belongings.

  
They started with the cloak, ripping it off his shoulders as if they were skinning him. One grabbed hold of his arm. His enormous hand reached easily around Aegon’s muscle like a twig, while the other tore the cloak from his shoulders and neck, ripping apart the claws that kept it closed in front. The novice beast that tore it off donned the cloak for a moment, mocking Aegon, then threw it to the forest floor.

  
Then they tore at what was left of his tunic, tearing pieces off at a time instead of allowing Aegon to remove it properly. Their paws clawed at his chest and back, leaving slices in his pale skin from their sharp fingernails. They flung each torn piece in the same pile as the cloak.

  
Huge hands reached for his wineskin, ripping it from his cloth belt. The one novice spoke to the other, laughing, opened it and gulped what was left. He spit it out at Aegon, drenching his face with a mist of water and spit, then laughed and threw the skin down in the pile.

  
They left the dirk for last. The other novice grabbed the hilt, pulled it out and held it in the sunlight. The glare off the beams filtering through the canopy flickered on and off as the beast turned it, inspecting it. In his huge paws, the dirk looked no more than a kitchen knife, which only slightly amused the beast as he pretended to wield it as a weapon, only to make a gruff noise, laugh and throw the dirk into the pile as well.

  
The other novice grabbed the sheath and quickly discarded it like the husk of eaten fruit, leaving Aegon bare-chested, unarmed, bleeding, and humiliated.  
He looked at the pile of his things, lying jumbled on the forest floor. He’d miss everything but the tunic, but he looked longingly at the dirk, remembering all the things and people it had cut for him. It was the last of his belongings from his time as Har of the Harbor.

  
A crude horn sounded. Aegon stood near broken, stripped, and looking at the pile of his belongings. The beasts shuffled from all around him into marching formation. Fourteen became forty as more male beasts jumped down from the trees and scurried through the brush into position. The two novices given watch over him prodded him back towards the middle of the formation, poking half sharpened ends of their staffs into the meat of Aegon’s back as they yelled at him in their tongue. He hesitated, looked up at the novices defiantly, hocked up, and spit at the feet of the beast closest to him. He didn’t take kindly to the gesture. Enraged, he mumbled something guttural and swung the blunt end of his staff at Aegon’s face.

  
The force of the blow sent a white flash through his eyes and his legs buckled a moment. He did all he could to keep from falling, his head light and his vision blurred. He felt his jaw detach from his skull, an old recurring wound from corsairs in the Stepstones, and tasted blood in his mouth from the skin of his cheek. Tears welled in his eyes as he clamped his mouth closed hard, forcing his jaw back into its socket. Blood slowly pooled on his tongue filling his mouth. He spit again at the beast, then turned to look at his belongings, the dirk most of all. As he heard the whir of the staff in the air for another strike, he remembered thinking of how he’d gotten the dirk and why it had been so special to him.

  
Through the pain of the blow, he could see the Harbor. As the staff repeatedly struck each side of his face, he drifted off into his memory.  
It was the last stop of his final journey under the Captain. Much and More had just come into port in White Harbor. All ports along the eastern coast of Westeros were dangerous for Har, likely full of members of the family that hunted him, his own, but White Harbor was the most perilous of all. It was the place where he was last recognized, decades ago, as a young orphan.

  
Though the bounty on his head was a secret summons from the lips of Queen Daenaera herself, it was the lesser members and latter sons of House Velaryon that hunted him most vigorously. The man who served Har’s head on a platter to her magnificence would win himself a castle, lands, and lordship. Every member of the house without a realistic chance to claim Driftmark’s seat, wanted to claim Har’s head for their own.

  
A few years before Aegon’s birth, with the Lord of the Tides, Corlys “The Sea Snake” Velaryon’s advanced age bringing into question the eventual succession of his seat, lesser Velaryons claimed their rights as pure born members of the house. To do so however, they accused Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Princess of Dragonstone at the time, of adultery and treason, stating that Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey were all bastards of Harwin Strong, and not the fruit of her marriage with Laenor Velaryon, true born son of The Sea Snake, and one thought to prefer men to women.

  
Malentine, Rhogar, and their three brothers plead their case in front of the sickly King Viserys I, who promptly had their tongues removed for their claims. They became known as the “Silent Five.”

  
Refusing to accept Alyn of the Hull as the Lord of the Tides, Malentine and Rhogar tried to take Driftmark’s seat by force, plotting to slay the young bastard in his sleep. They were thwarted off by guards loyal to the wishes of Lord Corlys, who killed Malentine in his attempt and forced Rhogar to take the black.  
Malentine was survived by his son, Corwyn, who grew hating the greater members of his house and bastards, like Alyn of the Hull, most of all. Hatred towards Har, the Batard’s Bastard came naturally to Corwyn at an early age.

  
By the time Aegon was a man grown, Corwyn had become a captain of his own vessel, carving out a name for himself in the enormous shadow of his bastard third cousin. His sails could be seen from Eastwatch to Dorne and across the Narrow Sea, but as little more than a merchant, the son of the disgrace of his house, his eyes were always open for the Bastard’s Bastard. Some said, he chased the boy out of the womb.

  
It was years since Aegon had last noticed eyes searching, though Har stayed low and out of sight. It had been over a decade since he left White Harbor. His eyes would give him away if he was noticed by the wrong person but he was mostly forgotten to all but a certain few. Only one other person in the world knew Har’s secret and where he had been since vanishing into the Narrow Sea: the Captain.

  
He only left the ship in the cover of the evening to finish his own dealings and to frequent the Lazy Eel for a few drinks to help him sleep. No accepted member of House Velaryon would ever be caught dead in a place as vile, so it was perfect for him. At night, his dark violet eyes looked as good as brown to a drunken sailor. Further, the warrants for his capture were only ever written and posted around the city. None of the Eel’s illiterate patrons would never have read his warrant to sell him out. He could hide in the squalor of his common life to the aroma of rancid meat and wash his dreams down with a red wine so sour, sea water quenched better.

  
His first night in port finished quietly as he and the crew waited for the Captain to off load their wares and collect their final payment. Lem and Har were always the last to get paid, sharing a quarter of the profits with the Captain himself. It usually took a full day into the second for him to offload all of his cargo, and this journey was no different.

  
On the second night, he went to the Captain, as he always had, to collect his share. “Har, my boy. Come, sit with me. An old man is in need of a favor.”  
The Captain was a proud man and almost never asked anyone of anything. It was a weakness, in a way, and as he smiled at Har, fidgeting in his seat, Har felt honored at first. “I need you to meet a man for me,” he said. Har remembered thinking the Captain sick, for as he spoke, he could barely keep eye contact. Nothing like the man who raised him.

  
Despite misgivings, Har acquiesced. He was the Captain’s right hand. Anything he ever asked, Har was his man. In the light of the full moon, he set off into the city, hooded in a black cloak wearing his usual roughspun, breeches, and boots. He carried a sealed letter with the Captain’s emblem of the wind blowing, swirling lines pushing a cream sail on a blue green field. The letter’s seal wasn’t in color of course, but the sigil of House Harrus was one of the most impressive things Har had ever seen. It was nothing more than a figment of the Captain’s imagination made real.

  
The letter was to be delivered to some man he’d find in Fishfoot’s Yard in the center of the city who would exchange it for a parcel or package. Har never found himself in front of the mermaid statue. The twenty-foot statue always drew eyes. What had once made it easier to slip past to and from the Eel unnoticed he would now have to linger in front of it becoming part of the attraction. While he waited for the man he’d meet, every passerby would notice him, study him, and wonder, “What is this man doing?” Or so he thought.

  
The yard was more than empty and less than crowded. People walked by quickly in crowds, usually only concerned with themselves. Har stood at the base of the fountain, his back to the passersby, waiting in the dark. Before long, he found himself staring into the details of Fishfoot’s statue. His trident, still impressive despite broken to time and weather, gave him a fierce look. He studied the scales on his tail. The edges had softened over the years, but were still legible even as far away as he was. His lichen covered face and the cracked green hair were lined, like an elder’s skin wrinkled in the salty air, but there was almost a pattern in the way the lines broke, framing his head aesthetically as if they were carved purposely. Har had seen Fishfoot hundreds of times, but this was the first time he truly looked upon the Merman. Despite the obvious imperfections and defects, beastly as it was, the twenty-foot likeness was a thing of beauty, in its own way.  
The temperature dropped as he waited for what seemed like an hour. His breath became visible as he began to count each party that passed, adding a backstory to each. Four young men swaggered through the yard raucously, obviously drunk, laughing at nothing and everything. Har imagined them a group of survivors from a sellsword company that fought on the Stepstones. They drank to forget their fallen commander, a horrible leader and worse fighter they were glad to be rid of. A group of how many women sauntered slyly by him, making jests of his arse, squeezed it, and ran. He imagined them to be novice septas, close to their vows, but not yet bound to the strict laws of the seven, enjoying what little time they had left young women of their own. In his mind he admitted to not fully knowing the customs of the septas or seven faced faith, but he felt the story fit them.

  
A group of sailors, forlorn, as if they’d lost a client and faced an uncertain future at sea. A few children laughed mischievously behind him. He never turned to see, but imagined them aiming a sling shot at his arse, only to be caught by their parents before they could let it loose. There were whores and merchants, low noblemen and musicians. Har gave them all stories to give him something to think about. Something other than imagining them all as secret assassins plotting to kill him.

  
Har sunk down and leaned into the base of the fountain. His eyes growing heavy, he rested his head on his propped up hand, still watching what little people were left walking through the yard. He could feel his head beginning to nod back and forth, catching himself as his head fell out of his hand as his eyes became too heavy to hold open. He whipped his head back up like his neck a trebuchet as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  
“You must be Harrus’ man,” he said, just above a whisper. “Come. I have what he requested, but you must follow me this way.”

  
Har shook his head awake, stood and looked into the man’s face without gazing to long for his own eyes to be noticed. I haven’t requested anything. He was a short, droopy faced, mound of a man. His features sagged as if he were molded of clay, his nose bulbous with large black pores. His jowls and earlobes were loose flaps that bounced as he spoke. He looked older than Har, maybe thirty, but the darkness left little than the gist of his appearance legible. His hair was cut cleanly, either brown or black in color. His clothes were cut of rich linens dark green it seemed, stitched and embroidered like only a lord would own, though he carried himself deferentially, like a servant or slave. He gave off a trustworthy persona, but Har trusted no one. Especially strangers.

  
“Who are you?” Har replied, feigning ignorance to safely gain more from the man before following him.

  
“I am Tippin Longsley, though it makes no matter. I am like you, but a humble servant to my lord.”

  
“Who is your lord?” Har asked, mocking the man’s inflection.

  
“I apologize, ser, I have mistaken you for another I am to meet. Good day.” The man simply turned and walked away. The Captain didn’t tell him who he was to meet or what the letter was for, so there was no harm in his skepticism. But he did not want to fail the Captain, and the man did mention him by name. He more than likely was the man the Captain intended him to meet, so he had to progress forward with the rendezvous.

  
“Wait.” He stood and strode steadily to catch the man. “I am the Captain’s man, yes.” He whispered back. “I apologize. You just can’t be too cautious.”

  
“Very good. Follow me this way.”

  
He walked with his hands folded in front of him, taking deliberate and short steps which moved his girth around like his jowls. His lumpy silhouette waddled through the dim light from the oil lamps through the square towards an alley. By day, the alley was crowded with people buying and selling fish, fresh and cooked. At night, like this night, no one could be seen save a few women, whores most like, calling down to them as they strode by.

  
It was hard to follow a man so slow. His small steps did little but shift his sloppy frame around in his clothing. His loose doublet shifted back and forth into his neck, like a saw. Har imagined his head being cut off.

  
“Not much longer, ser. Thank you for your patience.” He turned back as he spoke and smiled courteously. Under the light of the lamp above, Har could make out the subtleties of his features. His mouth was drawn and low with thin lips framed with deep creases into the clay where his jowls fell. His eyes were dark and beady, like a shark or weasel, with heavy lids, the left having a small mole on its corner, which kept the lid from fully opening. The plump creases in his forehead squirmed as he annunciated, writhing against each other like they meant to squeeze free. Though clean shaven, his drooping ears had tufts of thick hair that gave the appearance of chops. Above his doublet rested the loose skin of his many necks, which like most of him, bounced as his jaw moved.

  
They continued down the alley as the walls between each building crept tighter and tighter together. Har could see where it ended into a clearing, but there were less and less lamps the deeper down the alley they walked. The man stopped near a dark oaken door, covered in soot, and turned to gesture toward Har. “My lord is just through that door and he wishes to see you.”

  
“What does this have to do with Captain Harrus.” Har froze. The Captain never mentioned meeting another person. He was supposed to meet, hand letter, receive a package, and return to the ship. “I was meant to bring a letter and carry back a package. Why must a courier have a go between? What mummer’s farce is this?”  
“What your captain wants is right through that door, ser.”

  
“I’m no knight.” He hesitated. It could be I’m craven and this man I’m meant to meet is as cautious as I’ve been. He thought, weary from waiting, talking himself into finishing the task despite the sinking feeling in his gut. “Very well. If you would be so kind as to lead me.”

  
“It would be my pleasure.” Longsley reached under his necks and doublet and pulled out a single key He pulled the leather string around and over his head, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. It squeaked like the sound of a dying mouse, opening to a pitch black corridor. The human lump waddled and disappeared into the darkness. Har followed warily, squinting through the dark to see.

  
His steps echoed as he progressed through the doorway and into the building. It smelled damp and moldy, much better than the Eel, but similarly rancid. It felt wet, as most places did in White Harbor, but this far inland it wasn’t from mist or spray. The click clack of his boots on the stone floor continued to echo deep into an open hall he could not see. His steps sounded. Only his. He couldn’t hear Longsley’s deliberate little steps.

  
“I will leave you to it, ser, my lord.” Har heard Longsley’s voice from the door. He must have hidden behind it as I walked in. His shadow exited and shut the door behind him.

  
Pitch black. Har heard a drip three times and then a scrape slashed down a flint stone, sparking into a brazier in the center of the darkness. It scraped and scraped until some kindling caught and a small spark turned into an infant flame. Light glowed in front of the man that lit it, tracing his frame with warm red and orange. He took a thin slice of wood, lit it, and brought it over to a whale oil lamp, which illuminated the most of the large empty storage room.

  
The man in front of the lamp was tall, thin, with a pursed focus to his lips and mouth that stunk of forced nobility. He squinted his eyes, as if to seem deep in stressful thought. His brow furrowed, wrinkling his young pale skin. His hair was light, not platinum silver, but the soft gray blonde of mixed Valyrians, shoulder length and straight as a pin. His shoulders stood broad, well trained, though his chest sunk in his clothes as if it had yet to fill out or would never. He wore a fine boiled leather jerkin, with leather coverings and armor around vulnerable areas as if he were waiting to train with a blunted sword in a castle yard, but he wore a seafoam cloak draped over his supple leather armor with the silver seahorse of House Velaryon clasping it together around his neck.

  
Har didn’t recognize the man, but he knew what his name was, at least one of his names. Unarmed and alone, he didn’t fear the man, but readied himself knowing the potential threat. He stepped towards Har slowly, his sword swinging back and forth on his left hip, a dirk on the right.

  
“Thank you for coming. I have waited for you for quite a long time. Sit.” He gestured to a table set up in the middle of the room near the brazier. The light from the lamp barely reached its edge, most of it shrouded in black. Har looked to the table, then the man, then walked towards it slowly, staying out of range and behind his distant cousin.

  
“And who the fuck are you supposed to be? I’m here to hand you this letter, pick up a package, and bring it back. Enough foolishness, let’s be done with this. The night is nigh over and I’m weary of games."

  
"You don't know your cousin. You wouldn’t though. Your a Strong bastard anyway before you were ever a Velaryon bastard. You may be Targaryen, true enough, but your nothing more than a bastard’s bastard.” He smiled stretching his still pursed lips out as much as he could still squeezing his face. He forced a false laugh, “With a bastard. Your just all bastard, aren’t you, Snow?”

  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Do you have the package or not?” Har played ignorant hoping to avoid the inevitable.

  
“My father lost his life fighting for his rightful seat against a bastard. I intend to win my own seat putting down the likes of a bastard like you. Its fitting in a way, don’t you think.” Har looked back and the man continued, “That doors well locked by now, Longsley is a loyal man to have worked with me so long in this.”  
“Who the fuck are you and what is the meaning of this?”

  
“I am Corwyn Velaryon, son of Malentine Velaryon, and rightful heir to the seat of Driftmark. I may never sit my rightful seat, but I mean to sit one somewhere. I know you are the Bastard’s Bastard and I’ve hunted you all my life. My kin and I have all raced to remove your head first, but it seems it will be the eldest and strongest of the Silent Fives sons. You don’t know what your death means to me.” He smiled again, lowering his head to look up at Har to add effect to his threats. He reached down with his right hand, quickly unsheathing his sword as if to demonstrate his comfort with it. He held it up then lowered it down, pointing at Har. “Its been so long I’ve chased you, it is so nice to finally meet you. And say all you want, your eyes betray you. You are of an age, and my colleague and I have proof. What is your name again?”

  
“So you mean to butcher me unarmed in the dark like a robber knight? Have you no honor?” Har didn’t fear the man, even unarmed, but if Har provoked him into a fair fight, he’d kill him in seconds.

  
“You will not be unarmed. I regrettably cannot arm you with a great sword or long sword, that is true, but I am a man of honor. This should do. Consider it a gift. Cousin to cousin. Though I will gladly pry it from your bloody hands as soon as I kill you.” He unsheathed the dirk on his right hip and threw it to him.

  
It landed on the stone floor in front of him with a clink and dragged across the floor in front of him. He picked up the hilt and looked at the blade. It was castle forged steel, clean with sharp edges. The cross guard was gold plated and wide to protect its owner’s hand. The hilt felt detailed, so he opened his hand to inspect. The handle curved pommel; a tail that curled into itself, ribbed and aquatic. The hilt was a seahorse, carved so intricately it massaged his hand as he held it. Har had never held as fine a blade. “Thanks cuz.” He said as Corwyn raised his sword.

  
“You are most welcome.” Corwyn replied as he stepped closer to Aegon Velaryon.

Har had kept the dirk ever since.

  
He thought about the fight as the beast knocked his head back and forth as if for sport. He held on, reminiscing about the dirk, until a blow to the temple sent his world black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I loved Chapter 12, but this and the soon to come conclusion of Aegon's backstory might be my absolute favorite (then I'll say the same for Chapters 25, 29-30, 34, 39, and 45, so just know, they're all my favorite even though that doesn't make sense). 
> 
> Hopefully you are starting to understand who Harwin was, who Aegon is, and who he will become. 
> 
> I also wrote him as much as I could to be both a hero worthy of reading about as well as a character that is NOT a MarySue. He does have limits. He does lose. But, as you will find out, he is destined.
> 
> You'll see.
> 
> Thanks again for making it this far.
> 
> If you're this deep into it, I hope you're hooked.
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments, pretty please.
> 
> HS


	20. Chapter 20

20  
He woke dragging behind two beasts, his arms firmly in the grips of two large hands, his feet and legs scraping against the rough roots and vines of the forest floor. He looked up, squinting through swollen eyelids from the beating to find the sun. He hadn’t been unconscious for long, the sun still high in the sky, but as he looked at his new surroundings, the column of beasts must have covered a good bit of ground. The colors of the forest changed from the brilliant hues he’d become accustomed, to a variety of pale and bright greens. The height of the trees seemed lower, with more ferns and grasses than bushes and trunks. Even the paths they walked on seemed deliberately packed, something Aegon had yet to see in the jungle.

  
The pain in his head pulsed as his legs dragged over each bump in the terrain. He wanted to call out, alert the beasts he was awake and could walk, but he couldn’t muster the strength for words. The thumping in his swollen head was deafening, pulsating with every beat of his heart, and though painful, being dragged helped distract him from the tight skin and raised bruises on each side of his face. He licked around his mouth to feel his teeth. All but one still seemed in place. A tooth on the left side must’ve come clean out with one of the blows, for there was no stump or broken piece left, just an empty socket where a molar used to be.

  
He opened his mouth to speak, sending a shooting pain around his face. The thin slits of his eyelids were difficult to see through, but his mouth was even harder to move. His jaw burned where it had been dislocated and reset, but it was the swelling that caused him the most pain. He felt as if the skin on his face would split if he moved his mouth, the tension from the pooling blood underneath stretching his skin to its limit.

  
The joints in his arms burned from being dragged as well, his shoulder most of all. As they continued, his foot tangled with a root and was caught, but the beasts pulling him just powered through, yanking him violently forward. It felt like his arms would rip off, until he adjusted his ankle and his foot slipped free. The pain in his arms intensified and he forced a sound out of his open mouth, “Stop. I can walk.” He tried, but the swelling in and around his mouth made it sound more like their language than Valyrian.

  
He tried again, raising the volume of his plea as loud as he could, forsaking language to make a loud enough noise to catch their attention. They surely didn’t want to drag him as much as Aegon wished not to be, so if they heard him, they’d likely stop, even if they couldn’t understand his words.

  
After four attempts, they heard a grunt and sigh, and promptly dropped him. His head landed hard on a root, which sent a bright flash and searing pain through his swollen skull. The beasts muttered something to him, as he tried to shake through the fog, gesturing their enormous arms for him to stand. Through the dizzying haze, he forced an arm down to prop him up, shuffled his legs under him and stood. He stumbled as the blood rushed to his head and he felt himself staggering back. He reached out an arm to grab something, grasping a close branch, only for it to break as he tumbled back down to the forest floor.

  
He caught himself, falling onto his outstretched arms before the floor met his sore head again. He crawled to a nearby plant, and pulled himself up by the trunk. Finally on his feet, the beasts called to their superiors, who then threw back their staffs. They gripped them with both hands and began to prod Aegon forward, his steps still unsteady.

  
The beasts given charge of him continued to prod as they marched north in a long column of savage humanity, presumably toward a camp where the ships he warned them of would soon land. Aegon contemplated the fate the foreman intended for him as he marched toward the slavers. If he wanted him dead, they would have already killed him, unless they were planning on some kind of ritual or savage execution. Most like the foreman would try to sell him, but in almost all of Aegon’s imaginings, his fate was a shit one.

  
He remembered the dirk. It was lost to him, forever. Sorrow lined his face for the first time since he killed Xenus, the perpetual hope that carried him through the forest since washing ashore seemed to all but dwindle with each step towards his impending doom. The doom of a Valyrian.

  
As his head hung, swollen and pounding with pain, he stared at his boots. He focused on each foot as he lifted and planted it down, one at a time in front of him. Nothing seemed simpler, though with all the pain that flowed through his body and soul, very little would have been as trying as walking was now.

  
For a week or so, he had survived the deadly jungle, one step at a time. Murder, loss, and tragedy all weighed on him, as well as the guilt of losing all of his crew and everything that had ever been his.

  
He lost everything, including his identity, either sinking to the bottom of the Sunset Sea or washing ashore with him in jumbled piles of useless driftwood and debris. Har of the Harbor was no more, and couldn’t continue on. Especially in this place.

  
He looked up at the trees. Shorter and thinner, the trees here still had life amongst the canopy. He noticed a bird, perched, with a yellow body and blue cap, grooming itself. It puffed its feathers and pecked away, removing bugs, parasites, or whatever birds do when they peck at themselves. From a neighboring branch a large dark green mantis jumped at the yellow bird, attacked with its scythes, and clutched the bird’s wing in a green pincer that savagely shut on its victim.  
The bird struggled, flapping the best it could to no avail, as the assailing mantis held tightly with its green claw. The bug stretched his neck toward the bird, and with ferocious mandibles, bit into and started chewing the wing as it struggled.

  
The bug tore feather and flesh, methodically ingesting pieces as the bird squeaked in pain and terror. It didn’t stop moving, though; flapping, jumping, pecking back at the bug, trying to survive. As the mantis came in for another bite further up the wing, the bird caught its eye in its beak and ripped it out. The mantis flinched, releasing the bird, which flew away the best it could, fluttering in an awkward path away from its attacker.

  
I’m defeated but not dead.

  
They trekked further, marching straight through the day and into the early evening. The forest around them darkened as the sun began to set. His body was sore from the beating and traveling, his stomach hungry, his mouth dry, but he trudged on. The scene with the bird and bug rekindled the flame of pride within him, as he walked the rest of the way with his head up and shoulders back. Luckily, his defiance only cost him his face temporarily, the beasts left the rest of him alone, for now.

  
As the sun was midway through the horizon, descending, the column reached a stand still. He couldn’t see what stopped their progress, but he could hear the beasts grumbling to each other in their tongue. He smelled the sea, a refreshing and alarming aroma. The sea had been a welcome sight and smell his entire life, but if the Ghiscari had landed, the sea could only mean pain.

  
They had reached the mouth of the river where some crude shelters were built of logs and hides, in the way Westerosi might build a town against a city wall. In the center of it all was a large clay pot full of stew one beast stirred, simmering. It reminded him of Flea Bottom and the vats of brown. In the center of the clearing, two beasts sparred with their staffs, throwing thunderous blows into each other while another grunted, correcting their posture and movements. Save the fancy frivolous luxuries and feminine touches of elegance, their square seemed reminiscent of many ports he’d frequented, and he was reminded of how degrading his moniker of beasts had become for Nahknani’s kind, and how these people, however grotesque, were just that. People.

  
In his anger, he would continue to call the foreman’s clan beasts, but for the rest of these people, he’d have to consider something different. What did the Ghiscari call them again? The words they used were Striped Men. That would work.

  
His prodders poked him toward a patch of sand closer to the shoreline than the river mouth and stopped. They kept their staffs pointed at him, giving him an inch or two of free air from the half-sharpened tips to his rib cage. Further up the bank, the group congregated in a formation around the clay bowl of stew, while three figures thumped toward him over the marsh of long thin grass that grew between the riverbank and shoreline. It was the foreman, garbed in the jungle cat cowl, with two other’s flanking him, carrying thicker staffs of a darker wood. When they reached Aegon and his chaperones, the sun had just set behind him in the clear purple sky.

  
On the hip of the beast to the right of the foreman was a coiled vine so thick and long, it looked more like a snake than a rope, green, frayed, and twisted. The foreman spoke and his two minions stepped to Aegon, uncoiled the vine, and proceeded to tie his arms behind his back. An enormous hand fell on his shoulder like an anvil, pushing him to his knees as the other wrapped the vine around his ankles behind him. Then they pushed him to the sand, his already throbbing head jolted with a burst of agony, and tied his wrists and ankles together, pulling the vine so tightly his hands and feet began to tingle.

  
The foreman stepped over Aegon’s body. When his foot landed next to his head, he could feel the earth shake under him. The striped leader took another step away, flicking sand in Aegon’s face, then pivoted, looking down at his captive and said harshly, “One of these ones said you spat at him. Is this how your face comes to look as it does?”

  
Aegon nodded. Speaking loud enough to hear would have hurt more than it was worth to say, “Yes.”

  
“An improvement. Valyrians look soft. The men look of women, fair hair and purple eyes. I’d say you are finer than most of the women from my former tribe, which is not saying much, I grant, but still. And yet, you are Valyrian, only a tale I was told as a cub. Purple eyed dragon keepers that ruled this place long ago. The finest armies that had ever been. The only people to have ever truly conquered our race, you are a story made flesh.” He turned his focus to his subordinates “Leave us. Me and the pink man must talk.”

  
With a nod, each subordinate turned and assembled into file to retreat back to the camp. The foreman waited for his associates to make ground, far enough away as to not hear what he was saying.

  
“Why did you tell us about the boats? If they had been where you say, they would have landed by now. What do you hope to gain for this folly?” His tone was less harsh and more understanding, as if the gruff and hulking dictator persona was only an act to keep his subordinates in line.

  
“I did not lie. Would not.” He spoke slowly trying to avoid the pain. “Why would I wander into your territory without cause? As I reached the ocean,” by mistake he thought, “I saw five ships sailing toward the shore.”

  
“What marking did their sails bear?”

  
“The Harpy.”

  
The concern on his face deepened. He crouched down toward Aegon’s eye level, speaking softly to the tied captive as if he were a friend. “Five you say. And war galleys? You say they had enough to carry five hundred soldiers?”

  
“Or so. I did not see more than their shapes. It is possible the ships aren’t your friend Zlatan’s, but the Ghiscari I encountered near the river bank mentioned a trade for steel. Those three must be his men.” Aegon’s face burned with every word. He tried to relax the muscles in his cheeks as he spoke to alleviate some of the pain, but it made his speech sound slurred, like he had lost his wits. He wasn’t sure the purpose of the foreman’s conversation yet, but it was seemingly more and more hopeful as the words continued. “What do you want of me? Why ask me these questions if you plan to attack your own people and sell me to the slavers?”

  
The foreman broke eye contact as Aegon spoke, his eyes and mind seemingly wandering, pondering Aegon’s words and his own situation. A huge paw stroked the fur on his chin as he thought silently, crouching toward the sandy ground, as the soft rush of the tide echoed behind them. Suddenly, his brow furrowed, and he turned back to Aegon. “You spoke of coming to my territory. How do you know this? You are an outsider to this land, yes? How could you know of territory or where the lines are drawn?”

  
Aegon stopped, considering his words carefully. For honor’s sake, he could tell the truth to the beast, a now gentle captor, hoping the honesty would win trust and favor with the man, thing, now willing to hear him out. He could explain how he had saved Nahknani and she had brought him to this territory in order to warn the foreman, but he’d potentially expose Nahknani’s role in this, causing her greater trouble with her uncle foiling any rescue attempt, if she even cared. The truth could also garner further favor, as a savior of his niece, and a potential ally.

  
But this same man, thing, threatened to lead the Ghiscari against his own people. The truth seemed as dangerous as a lie, but a well-crafted lie could cure all ills. The Captain once told him, “I do not lie, Har, I tell stories. A story is nothing more than a well-crafted lie with enough bits of truth to seem real.” Aegon would have to tell a story.

  
He struggled from the ground to look up into the beasts’ eyes, selling the story the best the Captain taught him how, “The three Ghiscari mentioned where your territory was when I overheard them at the river.”

  
“And your first thought was to seek me out? You said you saw us delivering the trees. You said you knew our numbers. Why risk approaching us alone? Puny as you are, we could have easily killed you hundreds of times by now. For what does a man of Valyria risk his life for the Brindled Men of Sothoryos?”

  
“I have Valyrian blood, yes. But I am a man of Westeros, and in Westeros, men live by a code of honor, good men anyway, and I have always tried to live as a good man.”

  
A slight smile stretched across his wide muzzle. “You will die as a dead one.”

  
“I assume we all die dead. I just wanted to do what was right.”

  
“I do not know this, ‘right’ as you say. But it sounds like the reason I am doing what I am doing as well.” His head dropped as he tilted his chin down and looked to the ground. “Right, means good, yes?”

  
“Basically.”

  
“All try to do good. Or as good as can be done, yes? I am like this. To them,” he pointed to the raucous camp, its members hooting around a fire, dancing, and calling out to each other loudly in their tongue. Their enormous silhouettes casting large shadows on the sand as they circled the flames, sparks crackling and smoke rising. The sun had nearly set and twilight cloaked the camp in a deep purple as the night sky stretched further down as the darkness settled in. “To them,” he repeated, “I am a fierce general fighting for their rights to the life they’ve always known. To them, I am the ax that will cut through the dense forest and lead them to shelter. I am the only leader they have ever known and their way of life is threatened. Do you know of our history? Did you learn that from the Ghiscari too?”

  
Why would he say Ghiscari like that? Aegon rolled onto his back to get a better look at the expression of the foreman’s face. He was either manipulating him into a beneficial submission or telling his own truth, his own story. “I have not. I know nothing other than their plot against you and your plot against your people. I do not know the past, nor do I know the future.”

  
The foreman sat down, crossing his hairy legs in front of him and looked out into the night sky as stars started to twinkle in the distance. “Like you say, I have tried to do good things. My people here are all warriors. They have fought with me, some since their childhood, against all matter of corsairs, foreigners, and even rival clans of our own people. Yet the blood they spilled for our leader meant little. He forced us out on our own and now my people (which all are sons, some are husbands, and some fathers) want to fight back to free our captive kin and restore a just rule to our divided land.”

  
The foreman’s story sounded similarly fictional to his own. According to Nahknani, who could have been telling her own story, the foreman was exiled for his wish to rule. That coincided with part of his story, but to hear him tell it, he and his men were the victims. He also didn’t mention that “the leader” was his kin in anyway.

  
“What of your kin? Are you a father? Husband? Brother?” If Aegon’s face had not been swollen, he would have grinned from his own cunning.

  
“I had family there, yes. Save my niece, all are gone or hate me. I am a disgrace in their eyes. Most only know the half of it. It was such a long time ago.” As he reminisced, he stared weary eyed into the stars with a resignation to his face. He seemed tired. His voice trailed off at the end of some of his sentences as if the words hurt him as much as Aegon’s hurt his broken face. But the pain in his voice wasn’t physical.

  
“The half of what?” Story or truth, the tale was none the less intriguing.

  
“The Zamoyos divides the lands of our clans into the seven regions. We are on the Western Edge of our lands. My clan, our old clan, lives on the other side of this branch of the river. They control the area from that side to the next branch. The next group controls until the next riverbank, and so on. Seven clans in total, all answering to their own counsels or leaders. By the laws of our people though, to cross the river is to accept death. Without invitation, crossing is forbidden and all clans guard our borders heavily.”

  
“As leader of our warriors, it was my job to guard our border and keep the peace. Our neighbors to the east, our only neighbors, are ruled by JaHarle Yisstrihk, the Thief in the Night. For years, he’s sent parties over to steal our women, cross the river, and hold them there. Their fathers and husbands cross, only to be slaughtered vastly outnumber and against steel tipped spears our clubs and staffs feel useless against. What’s worse, is our leadership group cowers in fear in his presence as they try to treat for the girls with goods or gold, under our own huts asking for our own women back with courtesy.” Ootrahk the Mauler turned his gaze from the stars to Aegon, as he reached to his hip. His thick fingers pulled out a dagger made from a golden wood hilt tied to a sharpened cat’s tooth with tanned leather strips wound tightly around both. He reached behind Aegon, cutting him free. Puzzled, Aegon stretched his aching limbs and tired body, only to plop back onto the cool, gritty sand.

  
“I trust you have no strength to fight yet, yes?”

  
Aegon nodded. Why the compassion? He looked into the glassy eyes of the Brindled Man across from him. There was a sorrow in his stare, his once dark brown iris’ now streaked with amber. His scowl had melted into a worn pout, showing his age and exhaustion. “My leader and the entire council forbid any of us to form a host to retaliate in each case as JaHarle become bolder and bolder. Time after time, we foiled attempts by his men to snatch our women. I even began to take them alive to use against him when he’d plea ignorant to the acts of a few rogue individuals who deserve punishment. One boy even squealed his name as I peeled his face, naming JaHarle as the man who ordered him to cross. The council did nothing to avenge any abduction, any death. We ended up paying for our women back. He claimed they came over on their own, that they wanted to and broke the law first. After fucking them, hurting them, he’d walk invited into our lands to ‘treat’ with our council and call our women whores to their families faces. Our council did nothing. They feared his strength, for he has the numbers, and the steel.”

  
Too sore and tired to interrupt, Aegon sat, now much more comfortably, listening to the story. He judged each word, each inflexion, trying to determine whether he was being played, or if guilt forced the foreman to constantly explain his actions and current traitorous standing. Each word rang sincerely. Or as sincerely as any man could be.

  
“I spent decades of my life fighting off his raiders. He never cared if they made it back or not. If he did, he would have sent them over armed with steel, but he would never risk any of our men having even an arrow head. But they always came. I stopped more than slipped away, but the river is vast, and there is only so much one man can do. I went to our leader and begged him to stand firm.”

  
He took your family. Aegon didn’t say it, but he knew. He knew Ootrahk wouldn’t admit it either. It was the ultimate failure for any man, and the broken man sitting before him was nothing like the leader he had seen earlier in the day. It was a shame he must’ve hidden from the world for so long, most forgot or chose not to remember. But Aegon could see where the story was going and why a self-proclaimed ‘good man’ was exiled and treating with Ghiscari slavers.

  
“The steel is meant for JaHarle’s people, not your own.” Aegon stated, finishing the story for the broken Brindled Man.

  
“Yes. When I said I’d lead the attack, our attack was meant to be led against his clan. I would save every woman from our land and geld every man from theirs. I would take their mines and take their forests. I would reclaim all that was taken and then some. I said this to our council and they soiled themselves to think it. All of them were too weak to do anything but live in fear.”

  
“So you once led an attack before?”

  
“No. I crossed the river and rescued my wife and daughter.”

  
“If you rescued them, then why are you exiled?”

  
“I killed his mother. She was the one guarding them in his hut that night with six other guards. I grabbed her jaw and ripped it from her skull. She was hurting my daughter. I killed his men and burnt his hut to the ground. He was on a hunt. The next day, he came to our lands and ordered my men exiled and my wife and daughter killed.”

  
“Your council gave in.”

  
He looked away. “I do not know why I have come to talk to you. I have thought of why a man would come to warn us. No pink man has ever given more than half a shit about men like us. It reminded me of the man I was when they were still alive. Always trying to do good. I told you my truth, Valyrian, now tell me. You saw ships sailing here with Harpy sails?”

  
“Five.”

  
“And you heard men speak of killing us instead of trading?”

  
Aegon nodded.

  
“JaHarle’s men seized me in my home and poisoned me with the yellow flower. When I awoke, I was bound in the village square, my wife and daughter bound and kneeling in front of him. My council let him kill them in front of me, though they were too weak to be there. They hid in their huts as he beat my daughter to death with a club, and choked my wife.” His voice rumbled, a volcano inside him erupted with rage and unquenched vengeance. “I KILLED EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM! But I broke free too late, my life gone, I only wanted to kill him. But there were too many and he ran as soon as he heard the first man die.”  
Ootrahk reached out his muscled arm and grabbed Aegon’s shoulder. “I only wanted justice, Valyrian. If I killed and enslaved JaHarle’s men, their women and children could grow under just rule, learn to live good, as you and I try, and I could save our clan, our women and daughters. Our council was always too weak.” In the distance, Aegon could hear the commotion around the fire switch from celebratory to chaotic. Low rustles quickly turned to screams as the dancing shadows ran from the fire, a horn blasted, and Ootrahk sprung to his feet.

  
“They’re here.” He reached to the ground for his own staff and turned to Aegon. “Go. Warn the council. Find my niece, she’s been following us since we captured you.”

  
Aegon struggled to his feet and asked, “You knew we had met the whole time?”

  
“Yes, idiot. I saw her in the trees when we captured you. You never betrayed her, though. Not after the beating. Not after tying you up. Not even when I softened and told you my story. You stayed true to her. And your lie about hearing about my territory from the Ghiscari was my proof that I could trust you.” _I earned his trust with a lie._

  
“You must never betray her. She is the only thing left that I love in this world. Now, Go!” He turned, the thick staff in his hand, and ran to join his people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though initially propped up as a main antagonist, hopefully after this chapter, you see that Ootrahk is a much more sympathetic character, and as the theme continues, not the cardboard cut out of "beastly savage enemy" that he could have so easily been written as.
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments.
> 
> HS
> 
> p.s. Aegon earned Ootrahk's trust with a lie. I just love how that worked in this chapter. (Let me know if it did or didn't)


	21. Chapter 21

21  
The crash of battle sounded behind him as he limped broken into the foliage. Night and its’ darkness had finally settled on the forest, leaving his surroundings as troublesome as the fighting he fled from. Screams from both the Brindled Men and Ghiscari intermittently sounded amongst the shrieking steel and roaring flames in the distance. As he searched for the path his captors took bringing him to their camp, the light from the spreading fires was the only shred of illumination guiding him with a faint orange glow that highlighted the shapes of the plants and rolling forest floor.

  
His throbbing face and burning muscles clouded his thoughts as he tried to decipher the pitch black labyrinth in front of him. Quick short strides carried him as quickly away from the camp without crashing and falling into invisible danger. The whish and snaps of thin grass beneath his feet reminded him of the edge of the forest he’d come from. He was getting closer, but the thick cloud of black around him grew darker and darker the further he scurried away from the flames.  
If she had been following, Nahknani couldn’t be far from the path they’d taken and would have surely heard the commotion, but how could he find her in the dead of night? Aegon crept further into the foliage and all light faded into nothing. Even the moon proved useless, as it too was shaded in total darkness.

  
His eyes became irrelevant as he stepped with his hands stretched out to feel and his ears attentive to the sounds of the forest. The air was calm, cool, with the distant sounds of the battle mostly drowned out by the low hum of insects. The whish of grass changed to the crunch of leaves and twigs. The briny air of the sea mixed with the earthy smell of shrubs, and the pitch black canopy sparkled with the flecks of luminescent bugs to dim to light the forest in front of him.

  
His foot soon found the crushed gravel the Brindled Men dragged him over on their march into camp. The path. His gait broadened as his short steps increased to a brisk jog, his muscles burning with every thump on the forest floor. It wasn’t like Aegon to run from a fight, but with his face broken, his body battered, and his energy all but drained with no food or water since he’d been captured, his focus was less on his honor and pride and more on surviving the night.

  
Time in the dark allowed his eyes to adjust somewhat, and the outlines of the forest began to take shape. Dark leaves rustled in the wind and branches swayed in the clear night sky. Beads of dew reflected the ray or two of moonlight left from the mostly darkened sphere. The stars blinked at him, distant but still as clear as the dancing lightning bugs that fluttered above, but he still couldn’t see his feet below him, or most of the terrain before him. Jogging, he felt the ground change a few times and had to readjust his course to stay on the beaten path, as he continued away from the Ghiscari attack and hopefully towards Nahknani.

  
As he ran, his head hurt too much to think, though he tried to plan his next move. His immediate order of business was to survive the attack and alert the remaining Brindled Men in danger of attack. Mainly, Nahknani and her tribe, or clan. But without Nahknani, his message would be similarly received by any of the tribes, and he was only clear on which section of land between branches of the Zamoyos were her father’s, not where in that large section they settled and if they spoke Valyrian. He tried not to think about the hunger and thirst that made his already painful existence that much more miserable, but with every step, his stomach howled and his throat clacked begging for relief.

  
Mid stride, he heard a rustle in the foliage to his right and stopped. He crouched low to the ground and scanned the shapes to see what moved. It wasn’t as big as what he saw his first day, but it wasn’t a lemur or bird. The shrubs swayed though what moved them had kept going. He waited until his heart slowed and the throbbing pulse he felt in his face subsided, then continued his escape.

  
Each low branch that caught his cheeks as he ran passed sent a flash of pain through his head. Each sway from his shoulders burned through the tendons like wildfire. Each step re-opened a blister in his boot, but the voice in his head kept his legs moving, attacking the forest one step at a time. Though thoroughly set back, his mission remained. He needed to warn the Brindled Men of the impending attack from the slavers, but as his thoughts spun painfully in his swollen head, he began to question Ootrahk’s and Nahknani’s stories.

  
Nahknani’s painted her uncle as the barbaric usurper hell bent on gaining power. Ootrahk’s words made him to be the victim whose righteous fight was with the true enemy and not his kin. The truth, as it always is, had to be something more. But if Ootrahk lied, why would he free Aegon to warn Nahknani? And if Nahknani was complicit with her uncle’s exile, why agree to seek him out to warn him?

  
His will to keep moving fought bravely against the exhaustion in his legs as he blindly bounded further and further away from the camp and into the dark. As hard as he fought, after an hour, he lost, and collapsed to the floor, his muscles cramped and his mouth as dry as desert sand. His battered body crumbled slowly enough to avoid rattling his brain even worse, but the ground met him with the stiff sharp edges of twigs and the hard, rough edges of gravel. Aegon had grown accustomed to overcoming pain. Pain was cutting the skin around the bites from the killer fish in the pool, or burning the wounds closed. Pain was the crushing bruise from the flat fish that engulfed his arm, or the hahkyeen bite through the cloak on the same bruise. Pain was powerful, but fleeting. One could overcome moments of agony with the thoughts of it soon subsiding.

  
As he laid in place, covered in coats of unnerving darkness with the calls of the shrouded forest ominously sounding around him, he felt something similar but less intense than pain. Every inch from the blisters on his burning feet; to the raw scrapes on the backs of his legs; to the bruises, cuts, and gouges that covered his skin from multiple run ins with wildlife; to the stabbing pain from his empty gurgling gut, to his swollen, throbbing face irked with an incessant discomfort that incrementally built into a maddening irritation. What incensed him, was the seemingly never ending hurt, unyielding mild soreness that stayed consistently bad enough to keep him from truly finding any solace in his rest. He laid in place feeling every inch of his body as his mind slipped into insane rage.

  
He rolled, adjusted, itched, and rubbed, but all the sensations from his body persisted despite any effort to control the feelings. An illogical anger took over him as he shuffled blindly in the dark suffering. He felt a guttural roar building inside as the nagging pains continued to add to his misery. He knew if he screamed out, the consequences could be dire, but he couldn’t control the urge inside him to release. The subtle but constant physical pain exacerbated the stress he’d been able to suppress since the wreck, and he felt his mouth open as if to yell out.

  
His face stretched and his throat sounded, letting out an intense and voluminous shriek of emotion and agony. He held it, screaming until his dry mouth had no air left to release. For an instant, he felt better, calmer. A heartbeat later he heard a thin twig snap.

  
His mind perked to the noise but his body couldn’t respond. He rolled from his side to his back and tried to crunch into a sitting position, but his core failed him. He reached like a cripple for his knees to pull himself up, but the strain was too much and he fell, smacking his head on the ground.

  
A flash of white and pain shot through his skull on impact, and for a second he forgot the noise he’d heard. Then he heard it again. No more time to mope. He rolled to his stomach and pushed himself up to a crouch. His face grimaced seething in pain.

  
Snap. SNAP. A shadow bounded toward him. He braced, curling into himself just before an attacker’s claws dug into the shield he’d formed with his arms, landing on his chest with a pounce, Aegon’s head, again crashing to the floor with a flash.

  
Still conscious, somehow, he felt the attacker bearing down on him. His arms lifted themselves to catch its neck as its jaws crunched down at his face, drool flicking onto his face as the teeth snapped inches away. He could make out the broken tooth and felt the slice in the leader hahkyeen face as they struggled, Aegon for his life, the leader hahkeen for revenge.

  
Aegon coiled his legs, kicking with both to the leader’s body. A yelp sounded.

  
Another from a distance.

  
In the pitch black, he felt the leader leap away as Aegon’s legs pushed him off. He lost his shadow, hearing the attacker shuffle for another attempt. The kick left Aegon nothing left. Reaching for the ground, he felt for a rock he could use as a weapon, but in the rush of the fight, all he felt was grass.

  
The leader huffed, and leapt. Aegon heard it and tried to catch him again, but his arms had no strength left and the attackers teeth grazed his shoulder as a warm spill flowed over his skin, dripping down his arm. His jaws opened and closed again on him, but shock kept Aegon numb. His shoulder felt cool and the nagging discomfort all but faded. He pushed against the leader’s face with the rest of the strength he could muster, only for the hahkyeen to snap at his left hand, crunching into a finger on his left hand. Which one, he couldn’t tell from the pain, but he heard the bone crunch between the attacker’s jaws.

  
Snap. SNAP. Another form burst through the brush, colliding with the leader and Aegon with an audible crash that sounded like a barrel bursting. Two simultaneous yelps followed as growls and snaps circled his limp body as the two bodies around him wrestled and bit at each other. They barked and yelped in between savage sounds of impact and slashing flesh. A spurt of blood sprayed on Aegon as he lay, seemingly near death as he felt the burning from the bites he’d just taken and his body slowly cooling.

  
“Yeeeeeee Yeee Yeee!” Aegon heard the voice from above him, screeching through the night. He saw the glare of steel fleck in the dim light of light bugs as Nahknani slashed down into the leader with Lem pinned under him, still bravely snapping back at his former abuser. Aegon couldn’t see it, but he pictured it, as he heard the blade sliding in and out of the leader, the leader’s yelps soften, and Lem’s snaps and growls sound more triumphant.

  
They came back for me.

  
He stopped straining to see and relaxed, laying back. He felt Nahknani’s footsteps as she ran over to him.

  
He looked up to where he knew she was, though he could barely see her. “Where’ve you been?” He smiled as much as his swollen face could spread and slipped out of consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LEM! NANI!
> 
> This chapter is the "most viewed" and I understand why. Though it's not the traditional "battle" chapter that I love to write and read, it is exciting, descriptive, suspenseful, and triumphant at the end.
> 
> Let me know what you think.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading.
> 
> HS


	22. Chapter 22

22  
Aegon slipped into a fever dream as he felt Nahknani crouch down next to him, touching his face in the dark to assess the damage from the leader hahkyeen.  
A sudden chill settled around him, as his unconscious stood shrouded in a black cloak in the middle of blank darkness. A finger of light reached down and touched him from above. He looked down to see and feel his body recovered, his face felt normal again, and the nagging aches all but dissipated.

  
A cold wind blew past, flapping the shaggy black cloak he wore. He gripped it, keeping it from flying away and closed. He was dressed in all black, head to toe. Even his thick leather gloves were black. His whole outfit looked like the accumulation of assorted black garments passed down by elders or pillaged off dead men sorted together to create a complete look. He stepped forward in the dream to see the world take shape as snow, ice, and an enormous wall, The Wall, formed in front of him. Around him and against the ice, crude barracks and battlements took shape, wooden walkways, a lift, and living chambers appeared with another strong gust.

  
The cold winds cut through his layers of black and skin, chilling his bones and insides as if they had been poured in. His chest froze with every breath.  
In an instant, he was on the top of the wall, looking out into the dark forest beyond and a host of wildlings, giants, and mammoths screaming up to him as the two other men in black that shared his platform loaded up a barrel of pitch to be dropped.

  
One turned and called out to him above the howling wind, “Lord Snow, you going to help us or just stand there and look at them?” Aegon’s mouth couldn’t respond as he heard a stranger’s voice, younger than his, reply and begin to assist.

  
He heard a voice, low and sultry, distant and from above. “Below the shadow you must go, for Ice and Fire seek to know,” she seemed to chant the way the red priestess had in the Qarth.

  
With a flash, everything changed. He seemingly flew through the brightness to a memory of his own, standing over Corwyn Velaryon with the dirk in his hand and his cousin’s neck and ribcage leaking blood in a pool the shape of a dragon’s wing.

  
As he stood there victoriously, his first thought was how to escape the dim and dark storage room. His memory flashed forward to his second thought as he slipped out a window and back into the White Harbor alleyways. How did he find me?

  
Har had always been careful of saying the wrong thing in the wrong place, no matter how deep in his cups he was. Even in the Eel, where he felt as safe as one could feel in a place that served poison meat as a staple, he never entertained discussions of who he was or where he was from. When pressed, he’d regurgitate the same story he’d rehearsed and performed since he was old enough to sit at the bar. He was a deck hand for a ship out of Lys, which would explain his eyes for one, but allowed for him to speak only a few words in broken sentences without seeming rude. Not that he cared for manners or gallantry in a place like The Lazy Eel or winesinks of the like, but he avoided any potential confrontation, especially in White Harbor.

  
So for Corwyn to have found him, he would have had to have an informer. Eyes were always for hire in port, especially if you had the coin of a name like Velaryon, but the commoners in the Harbor were never privy to the private bounty for the bastard boy. They couldn’t read the warrants. Furthermore, no one had recognized him as the Bastard’s bastard in a port or harbor town in Westeros since he boarded the Captain’s ship at only seven. Whoever informed on him knew him. Knew who he was before the ship. Only one person knew.

  
Har skulked back down to the corner of the building to look down the thinning alley he entered the storage room from. Tippin Longsley stood outside the door keeping watch for a now dead master. Looking across the alley with his back to the door, the lumpy mound of flaps and skin resembled more walrus than man, as the shadowy alley provided cover for Har to sneak close enough to confront him.

  
“Longsley, my good man. We have finished our family meeting and your master wishes you’d join him,” he closed ground on Longsley quick enough to corner him from running, though it only took a quick jump and a few strides walking from behind the cover he used to approach.

  
His one eye that could widened, his jowels and chin dropped, and all Longsley could mutter at first was the amalgamation of pathetic squeaks and sounds until he mustered up the composure to ask, “If it pleases you, s-s-s ser, how are you out here and not in there?” He gulped. His greasy, wormy forehead beginning to bead sweat in the cold night air.

  
“We have finished our discussion, my cousin and I, and he’s said all he’s ever going to say. As I said though, I believe he wished for you to join him,” Har pulled the dirk and pressed it against Longlsey’s chest, “Or maybe I wish you could join him. Open the door so that we can speak in private, my good man.”

  
Tears welled in his eyes as sweat dripped around his whiskered brow, “Ser, please. Spare me. I mean you no harm. Here. Take this bag of silver. Please, ser, I want to live.”

  
Pressing the dirk into him, Har grabbed the bag and replied, “Open the door quickly while I still have a mind to let you live. I need answers, my good man, and if you provide me with the ones I need, I may have enough mercy in my heart to let you see the morrow.”

  
As he turned, opening the door, his quivering voice mumbled, “Anything, ser, anything. Ask and I will say it true.” As the door opened, Har pushed the walking lard into the darkness, the dirk poking into his soft clay back.

  
As the two stepped through the threshold of the door in his dream, Aegon woke, lying in softer grass, the sun seeping through cracks in the tall treed canopy, warming his face which felt cold to the touch. He could hear Nahknani fussing with Lem over something and the rolling sounds of moving water.

  
He dug his elbows in the dirt, trying to prop himself up, but too weak, he could only manage to shuffle his arms and shoulders enough to send a shooting pain through the middle of his back. He grunted, and Nahknani rushed to his side holding the wineskin.

  
“Here, you need water,” she said as she reached her hairy arm toward his face. He thought to ask if it had been boiled, but as his mind thought, his hands brought the skin to his lips and drank. The water tasted earthy, but clean, and never had a drink been as refreshing. He gulped and gulped until she stopped him.

  
“Not too much yet. I don’t want you to choke.” She took the skin. The water perked him up a bit more as the smell of sizzling meat floated past his nose.

  
“Eat?” he mumbled, his face even more swollen than it had been. Nahknani quickly brought some meat over, presumably the leader hahkyeen. A thick greasy piece of reddish flesh hit his tongue and sang. He left it whole in his mouth, savoring the taste for a moment but also afraid of the pain that would come from chewing. The meat started to separate in his mouth and he bit down with his back teeth to chew. A piece slid through and got stuck in the hole where a tooth once was, so he cleaned it out with his tongue and swallowed it down. It hurt.

  
“There. That’s good. Now rest. There’s much to do to heal you.” She turned to walk away from him.

  
“Wait,” he said, as he thought to reach his arm out. He tried to lift his left, but a flame ignited around his shoulder and his ring finger. The finger was flaps of skin holding the crunched and snapped bone dangling from the middle joint, but his shoulder was worse. It was a mess of ripped flesh, open tendons, and festering puss, and the pain only hit him when he saw the damage. We must tell your tribe of the Ghiscari. They attacked your uncle and may be allies with JaHarle, was what he wanted to say to her, but the pain overcame him, and he fell back.

  
Writhing, he jostled his body back and forth, ignoring the shame of his hand, grunting from the pain that consumed his shoulder. “No, no, no. Don’t try to move. The wounds are bad. Give me time, I will heal you. Here, drink this. I made it from the Chuun root to ease your pain.” She reached out with a handful of a thin white liquid. He sipped it, choked, and laid back again. Within moments he felt the pain subsiding and he drifted back off into sleep.

  
He was standing in the dark storage room, the dirk pointed into Longsley’s back. Har pushed him toward the half lit table, the brazier still burning, for him to sit. His master Corwyn’s lifeless body just a few feet away from him sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood.

  
“Did he fight bravely, my lord?” Asked Longsley, his voice still quivering.

  
“At least he wore no armor. He fought as men fought. He tried to kill me. He failed. He’s dead now. There’s no more to know.”

  
“Did he die slowly? Did he suffer?” The lard lifted his head, turned and looked Har in the eyes as if to see the truth in them.

  
The truth you shall have. “Yes. I stabbed into his ribs. I let him bleed a bit while I was finally able to get a word in. He gurgled replies I couldn’t understand, then I slit his throat just deep enough to cut the skin. He saw his blood spill out of his neck for at least a minute or two until he stopped bubbling. I’d say he died slowly enough and suffered just so.”

  
“Is that what you plan to do with me?”

  
“Shut your flabby mouth! I’ll ask the questions from here and you WILL answer them, and truthfully!” He stood above Longsley with the dirk in his hand, tracing shapes on the servant’s coat and breeches as he asked.

  
Longsley sang like a bard, explaining all he knew, which was less than Aegon thought, but all the same, he sang. He explained the betrayal down to the last detail he was privy to, ending his song with the undeniable accusation and all but certain identification of the offending party. The only one that knew who Har truly was.

  
Covered in moisture from head to toe; piss, sweat, spit, and tears, Longsley sat quivering in the chair after finishing his confession. “I have told you all that I know. I am withholding nothing from you, my Lord. Please, Please, let me go.” The man sank to his knees, his hands folded in front of him, pleading.

  
Har scoffed at Longsley replying, “Yes, indeed you have. You’ve answered every question, and I thank you, my good man. But alas, if I were to leave you alive, you’d eventually explain what happened here. More would soon be after me and soon after that, I’d likely be the one on the floor bleeding out. It’s a shame, truly. A man as obedient and loyal as you; you should be someone’s man.”

  
“Yes, yes. My lord, I could be your man.” His face brightened, horribly reading the situation. “Anything you would ever want, need only ask. I can be your servant, ser. My lord.” He bowed, trying to play to the knowledge of Har’s lineage and royalty.

  
“Just so you know, before I say this, absolutely nothing you could say would have saved your life. You were dead the minute that piece of shit on the floor’s blood stopped bubbling out of the opening in his neck. Though, knowing I’ve spent little to no effort to squeeze everything out of you, nothing you can say could convince me that any secret with you is safe. If you put up a fight, withstood a little torture, I honestly might have considered cutting out just your tongue and eyes. But I felt this way was better for you anyway. Don’t you think?”

  
The man before him sank into a puddle of something lesser. He was now only a slug, or shelled clam, soft, pink, and helpless. He knew the end was upon him as a fresh stream of piss flowed down his breeches and collected into the already pooling yellow below where he was kneeling.

  
He folded into a fetal position, resigned from his pleas, mumbling something like, “Please, please, please, please,” over and over again as if he were praying. Har held the Old Gods. They didn’t hear the meek whispers of a craven, covered in piss, kneeling before his enemy. They’d honor the man who stood in the face of defeat bravely. Not with their lives, but with the glory of a valiant death.

  
“Any last words?”

  
Aegon woke up to the smell of his burning flesh. Nahknani was next to him, holding down his left arm, as the wound burned next to his face. She covered the bite with a poultice of plants she’d found, wrapped the wound, and set it ablaze while he slept under the influence of the Chuun root. Alarmed from being woken with fire, his body jolted as much as it could, but as he came to, he couldn’t feel the flames.

  
“What? Why?” he struggled to ask, his eyes almost swollen shut.

  
“This is the way my people heal these. Your skin is much softer, yes, but it will still heal. Stay still while I get the plants for your face. To help with the swelling and pain.” She released his arm and began to walk back into the brush.

  
“My,” he reached out his hands, “finger.”

  
“I cut what was hanging. No use saving something already gone. But it is not an important one, I think. I applied the same healing. I just haven’t lighted it yet.” He looked at the finger seeing a similar poultice. My fucking finger he thought. She’s right though. What do I need that one for?

  
The flame swayed slowly back and forth remaining at a constant height and width, never straying from the wound itself. Nahknani left him for more healing, as she called it, and he watched his shoulder.

  
He relaxed back down on his back and turned his face away from the fire. Heat had never bothered him, even as a youth. Once, he had accidentally stepped in the middle of a fire running away from a group of kids in the street. Miraculously, it didn’t hurt him, he just kept going. It was the same as this flame. The wound tingled, like frostbite, refreshingly cool as the fire burned, seemingly restoring his energy and stamina.

  
He looked back into the flames. The red priestess would see something. He searched for himself. Only red, orange, and yellow. No prophecies. No visions. But as the flare danced smoothly back and forth with the soft breezes, he felt himself growing stronger and stronger. Dragons are fire made flesh.

  
Nahknani returned to Aegon smirking at the flame on his shoulder. He turned to her and said, “Light my finger.”

  
She did. He barely flinched.

  
“I have this for your face.” She rubbed the plant open and smeared cream on him. It immediately tingled and his face went cool, then cold, then numb. She spread it deep into the pores of his face and cheeks, around his lips and temples. Pretty soon, his whole face was a swollen, drooping arrangement of flesh on his face. He must’ve looked like Longsley.

“Drink the Chuun root again. If you rest, you will heal quickly. You are Valyrian, yes?”  
He nodded.

  
“This is some of what they taught my people. It works better on them than us, but it saves. The flames hurt us though. We scream. You smile.” She smiled, happy with herself as usual.

  
A yelp sounded and yet another hahkyeen mouth dripped drool on his face. “Lem,” Aegon murmered. The pup hahkyeen licked his face.  
“No. NOO!” she shooed him away, but too late. His tongue was already affected by the tingling plant juice.

  
As the Chuun root juice started to knock him out, he stared into Lem’s face. His shaggy eyebrows twisted in concern. His numb tongue dangling out of his mouth as if it were too big. Aegon laughed at the sight as his vision blurred and he slipped away again.

  
Har walked into Captain Harrus chamber in the dead of night, covered in blood with a black sack tied at the top. The Captain was still at his desk, counting coins.  
“That thing you sent me for, ser. Here.” He threw the bag on the desk, knocking over rolled papers and neat stacks of silver.

  
“Harwin,” he said, surprised. “What is the meaning of this? Why do you storm in here this way, throwing things in front of me?” He sounded incredibly naïve, though they both knew he wasn’t.

  
“I met your man. It seems he didn’t want to give me something for you. It seems you were giving something to him. Am I right?” Though the confession identified Harrus and the evidence was simply too strong to deny, Har wanted more than anything for the Captain to convince him otherwise. “You are the only person left alive to know who I truly am. Tell me, ser. Did you send me off to my death tonight?”

  
“Harwin. Now, calm down. Sit, son,” the Captain always used this tactic when confronted by an angry customer. He’d speak calmly, listen to everything the customer had to say, and then change the topic.

  
“I’m not your son. And I’m not going to calm down.” Blood seeped from the bag onto the Captain’s desk. He noticed it, then looked away as if to pretend it wasn’t there. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Open it.”

  
“Harwin, please. Sit.”

  
“No.”

  
“Harwin, I need you to hear me . .”

  
“No. Open the fucking bag!” Har felt the emotions overwhelming him. Just say, ‘No. It wasn’t me.’ Say something. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be. Harrus felt the tension building and saw the dirk now pulled from its sheath, poised in Har’s hands for use. He carefully untied the bag open, reached in and pulled out the severed head of Corwyn Velaryon, his neck still dripping and his face twisted in a fearful gaze of agony and defeat.

  
“That is what you wanted, isn’t it? The head of a Velaryon? It’s the wrong one, sure, but I think it’ll make a fine trophy.”

  
“Harwin, you have to listen to me.” Harrus put the head down and stared into Aegon’s face with that sincere look he used in deals. “I’m your dearest friend. I would never betray you like this.”

  
He was lying. Harwin knew by the way he blinked. He blinked less when he was lying, holding his stare as much as he could to sell the story. Harwin began to cry, to the point of sobbing.

  
“Now, son. Come here. I know how hard it has been for you all these years, knowing who you are, who your family is, and not being able to live it. Working for me all these years, I’ve taught you everything I know. Seems to me, I taught you too good,” he chuckled. “What happened, the prissy bitch challenge you to a duel or some gallant knight shit like that?”

  
Aegon wiped his tears for one last laugh with his surrogate father. “He brought me to an abandoned storage house, locked the door, and pulled a longsword on me. He gave me this dirk to defend myself. I threw it at his face and as he tried to parry it, I rushed him and tackled him. I bashed my fists into his fucking nose until he dropped his sword, then I kicked it away, grabbed the dirk from where it fell and stabbed him in the lungs so he’d drown to death. I slit the skin on his throat just enough so he could watch his life leak out as I mocked his freak of a father and his failed attempts at becoming something. I reminded him that he would never be remembered for anything other than a corpse, stripped his fine clothes, stuffed them in the brazier, and removed his head to bring to you. I also killed his servant. A fat man named Longsley. I killed him quicker, though. My quarrel was not with him.”

  
The Captain smiled, sitting back in his chair the way he did. “I told the dumb fuck not to fight you. I told him you’d kill him easy.”

  
“As you said. He was a dumb fuck.” The two shared their final laugh together, then both stopped and sat silent for a moment that felt like an eternity.

  
“Are you going to fucking do it or what?” The Captain said, slamming his hands onto the desk, a tear welling up and flowing down his face.

  
Har stood, the dirk in hand, “Can I show it to you first? You’re the only one that knows why this is special to me. It’s like it was forged specifically for me, huh. The hilt, you see? It’s . .”

  
“A seahorse, yeah yeah, c’mon, kid,” the Captain began to cry, “I’m sorry, son. I’m sorry.”

  
“Can’t you just look at it first. Can’t you just share this last moment with me?” Har started to sob as well.

  
“That is as fine a blade as any, Aegon Velaryon. It suits you. Never sell it. Never lose it. Now. C’mon. On with it,” he looked away, “I can’t live with myself a heartbeat longer.”

  
Aegon tossed in his sleep as the blade of the dirk cut clean through the base of the Captain’s skull, killing him instantly, and painlessly.

  
Under the influence of the Chuun root, Aegon continued to replay the day he earned the dirk in his head. Every time he reached the end, he tossed back and forth and shed a tear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter in my short list of favorites.
> 
> Let me know what you think and if you were moved. 
> 
> Thanks, as I always say but could never say enough.
> 
> HS


	23. Chapter 23

23  
He woke sweating a cold sweat, the memory of the betrayal still fresh in his mind as he rubbed his eyes awake and open. Nahknani and Lem lied next to him at the base of the fire they had put out. It was dark. He must’ve slept through the day, and he couldn’t recognize where they were.

  
The throbbing pain from his face had all but subsided. He touched it, to feel the swelling. It had gone down, almost back to normal. His shoulder and finger had healed too, but not perfectly. His shoulder would forever be marred with a hideous scar, and his finger would never grow back, but the pain, again, had all but dissipated and the healing powers of her herbs and the fire restored Aegon back to his condition before his capture, more or less.

  
He rolled and rose, standing for the first time in what seemed like weeks, though it had probably only been hours. His legs, still sore like they were about to cramp, had healed, but still lacked the strength from starvation to do much more than walk if he had to. He needed to eat and drink, then he’d be himself again, but as he thought of himself, and who he’d been in the dream, I still don’t know who I am. Who is Aegon Velaryon? Or will I always be Har of the Harbor?

  
He searched their makeshift camp for leftover food and water. Worrying from place to place, he heard Nahknani stir on the ground below him. “You’re awake.” She said, before her eyes fully opened. She stretched her arms and legs, spreading her jaws in a wide yawn like a lion would, even going as far to lick her fangs in conclusion.

  
“I need to eat. Is there any food left?” The only pain left was the hunger in his gut.

  
She gathered herself, climbed slowly to her feet and yawned again. “There’s some meat there in your leaf thing.”

  
Aegon ate, drank the remaining water in the skin, and sat down next to Nahknani who hadn’t yet fully woken up. After the much need sustenance, she turned to him saying, “I have something for you.”

  
She reached around where she was sleeping, grabbed and handed him something. The dirk.

  
“You found it?” After the dream replaying in his head, there could have been no better gift she could have given him, other than his life, which she already had.

  
“And this,” she pulled the jahkyar cloak as well. He jumped up, grinning ear to ear like a child and fastened the cloak around his bare back and chest. One of the claws that held it closed had fallen off, but it could still fasten in front with only two.

  
“Thank you.” He said, the moon waxing, emanating soft blue beams that reflected off her eyes in a metallic azure glow. “And my face. My shoulder. My finger. How did you heal me so quickly?”

  
She reached out her hand, softly touching his cheek saying, “It was not quick for me. It took the whole day. You stayed asleep after the last time you woke to eat, but you kept turning ever so often, opening the dressing on your shoulder. Once, you almost set the forest aflame,” she laughed, “But Lem got the worst of it. I think his tongue is still without feeling.” The two of them looked at the pup, sleeping, his numb tongue hanging out of his open mouth, covered with the hahkyeen pelt. “You were also crying, moaning something about a ‘Last time.’ Then it would start again. They say you dream your pain on the Chuun root. Did you dream your pain?”

  
The most painful thing I’ve ever done. “I don’t remember.”

  
“You do,” she said smiling, “but it’s ok. You can tell me if you want after all this is done with. Come. Are you ready to cross the river again?”

  
With his wounds burnt closed, he felt he could cross. They also needed to cross. But the river was just another fight and he wasn’t sure he was ready yet. “Are we near the river? I heard running water before when I woke.”

  
“Yes. It’s just over that ridge. We waited until you were strong enough, the current is swift here.”

  
They climbed the ridge to see. Rushing white capped water careened through the riverbank like a brown stampede. The river’s breadth here was wider than when they had previously crossed. Aegon worried he couldn’t hold his breath long enough. He felt certain Nahknani couldn’t. Despite the perilous nature of the task, they had to cross. Aegon hoped he still had enough strength, wondering if there was a way they could avoid it. He thought of things he could make, things he could do, but nothing would work, the same as the last time, until he remembered the last thing he said after they crossed.

  
“We should’ve asked him.” He said. Nahknani looked puzzled.

  
“Ask who?”

  
“Lem.” She looked at him confused. “Remember,” he continued, “I told you to ask him. We laughed but as soon as we crossed, he found us on the other side as dry as a bone in Dorne.”

  
She paused, as she often did, then responded in kind, “How would you like me to ask him then,” she smiled that near sinister grin, “in my tongue or Valyrian?”  
“There’s only one real way to speak to that one.” They returned to their camp and Aegon looked around for the leaf pouch. He found it, grabbed some of the cooked meat inside, and whistled for Lem’s attention. He perked up from his slumber, yawned, trotted over and sat on his haunches. Aegon gave him one piece, then preceded to lead him, food in hand, to the river’s edge.

  
“Go on boy,” he said, as he tossed the remaining morsels to the other side of the river.

  
Lem yelped scowling, visibly upset with Aegon’s ploy. He circled the river bank, yelped a few more times, then pointed his nose to the ground.

  
Aegon looked to Nahknani saying, “If there’s a dry way across, he’ll find it for some food.” The two smirked at each other coyly and followed the agitated hahkyeen as he walked the river’s edge with his nose to the ground.

  
They followed the pup through varying terrains over a quarter mile until Aegon began to doubt his plan in his head. Nahknani doubted audibly. “Where is this beast leading us? I’m not sure whose the dumber, him who is lost or the one who suggested we follow.”

  
Then he saw it. A rock formation in the middle of a clearing, dirt circling it, an opening carved out of the stone. The silhouette of a crude castle. He studied the bordering forest. It was nothing like the section of wood that he met Lem or was poisoned by the yellow flower, was it? He broke rank, running to the edge of the clearing in an attempt to gain his bearings. Who am I fooling? I didn’t know I was on the wrong side of the river.

  
He turned back, calling to his rescuer, “Do you know this place?”

  
“Not really. No,” she said. “Why?”

  
“This hill looks like the cave of the eyeless men.”

  
She stopped mid stride to pause, as she did, focusing her gaze on the entrance. Lem continued running, gaining on the cave, as Nahknani thought.

  
The hahkyeen reached the opening and skid to a halt. He snapped his head around and only now noticed he was alone. His eyes bulged, his ass jolted and he scurried, cowardly back. Nahknani smirked, then turned to Aegon, her eyes widened and said, “Is that not how you crossed the first time?”

  
Unknowingly.

  
Approaching the cave, Aegon and Nahknani took the lead, as Lem cowered behind them. Aegon’s first encounter with the cave dwellers started and ended with fire. He wasn’t sure if a torch would keep them away or draw them in, but to follow Lem in the thick pitch black of the cave they’d need light. It made the decision easy, but the uneasiness inside as he struck his flint stone built with each spark.

  
He wrapped a short thick branch with broad leaves and thin long grass at one end then ignited it outside the cave. The walls here were plain stone, not the black and oily surface from his first encounter, and the smell was less dank on the precipice of the darkness than his previous time inside. I hope that means its abandoned.

  
Doubt filled his head as the three hesitated before the cave. Nahknani’s fire cure had healed Aegon tremendously well. He could barely feel the pain from his wounds and soreness, but they were still open, healing. If he were to try to cross the infested river, surely some sickness would take him. They were lucky to have crossed it the first time without incident. If they tried now, he’d be more than tempting fate, he’d be sealing his own.

  
“Stay close. Stay in the light. Lem crossed quickly enough before, if we hurry, we should be out of here in mere moments. Keep your wits though, they took me last time from behind with the yellow flower. Many died, but I have never seen this cave before. They could still live.”

  
She smiled that mischievous smile, “So you let them take you from behind then. I knew you preferred men.” Aegon was in no mood, but left the jest unopposed. He reached for the dirk, unsheathed it, and turned to his party. He gestured onward with his dirk and stepped cautiously into the cave.

  
Soft drips echoed down the thin corridor, no wider than two men across, as they proceeded in single file, Aegon, Nahknani, then Lem, still cowering. “We’re going to need you to show us the way, buddy.” Aegon said to the hahkyeen pup. “Stay back for now, but soon we’ll need to follow you.”

  
As the walked deeper into the cave, he could feel the path descending on a slight decline. At least we’re going down. This could work. But how far down must one go to pass beneath a river? It felt much longer, but after a few minutes they reached a fork in the corridor. Aegon gestured to Lem, hanging back in the edge of the torch light, for which way. Reluctantly, the four legged fur ball tiptoed to the front of their miniature column, sniffed each path and decided on the right. They followed and as the corridor continued, thinning slightly, Lem retreated to the rear, walking next to and under Nahknani.

  
They reached crudely shaped stairs, descending into a thicker cooler dark. The walls were beginning to sweat, beads of cool moisture glistening in the torchlight, and as they walked down, the air became increasingly cooler. When the reached the bottom of the steps, the air was so cold each breath became a thin cloud in front of them.

  
Their steps echoed as they continued to make their way, reminiscent of the first blind walk through similar caves. When the sounds of their steps continued longer than Aegon felt natural, he’d spin wildly, waving the torch to illuminate the suffocating darkness that surrounded their safe bubble of light. Each time he saw no signs of eyeless men. Irahk she called them. Nahknani shuttered in response to the sudden movements, herself clearly shaken in the dark, each time responding in kind, “What are you doing that for?” He felt it would be unkind to explain to her the details, answering each time with, “Nothing. Just being cautious.”

  
Save their steps and the drips, the cave was silent. The stone walls around them were beige and taupe, natural rock coloring. The floor was much of the same, no blood. No bones. Everything seemed easy enough, which unnerved him more than familiar sights might have, but he continued at a brisk pace, eating up the light in front of him as quickly as the torch could illuminate it.

  
After a while, he couldn’t feel if they were descending or ascending, the ceiling parallel to the floor, jagged rock edges poking from both up and down. The hall continued to gradually thin though and it felt as if the ceiling was gradually getting lower. He smacked his face with the flat of the dirk, fearing the dark was playing with his senses. The anxiousness bubbled into a need for confirmation from Nahknani, “Does the ceiling look like its getting lower to you?”

  
“Yes. And the walls tighter.” Good. He thought. As long as I keep my wits, we will be fine. Just keep going. Forward. Onward.

  
He checked behind them, fearing the echo of feet once more, before they reached another checkpoint. Another crude stair, this time ascending, appeared from the darkness before them. They climbed each half rounded, some broken, cautiously, Lem most of all, only stepping where Nahknani’s feet had already been. When they reached the top, the hall emptied into a large hall like room. The walls were as black as pitch, and greasy. Now this looks somewhat familiar.

  
He felt as if this were the same room from his first time in the caves, though he did not want to confirm it by measuring with steps. The torch still shined brightly enough to see, so they looked for additional corridors, like he did the last time.

  
A rush of wind blew through, whispering in their ears, raising the hair on Aegon’s neck and arms. Nahknani must have been spooked and she reached out, grabbing Aegon’s dirk arm, clutching against him, her soft pelt crashing into him with a rush of warmth much welcome in the cold still air. Lem huddled in too, walking around and through their strides as they searched for the exit. Lem had seemed to lose all confidence in himself, never taking the lead, even now with the correct direction in doubt. Walking together in unison, they slowed, which Aegon did not like, but felt it cruel to stop. Even brindled women felt the effects of fear in a place as foreboding as this. Especially if all she knew of these people were the stories from her elders. Aegon grew up on similar stories of the Others, which to him were nothing more than children’s tales. Maybe he should reconsider those tales as well.

  
Another soft gust whished through the large room, this time accented with what Aegon heard as whispers. Nahknani shuddered to the gust, but reacted in no way to the voice he thought he heard. Maybe now I’m losing my wits. If she couldn’t hear it, then it must not be real. They kept walking, though Aegon’s heart began to beat faster and harder inside his chest.

  
He heard another breeze, moaning through a crack somewhere, whistling in a low sullen tone. He tried to ignore it, but it continued to sound oooooooooooo woooooooooo. Nahknani again did not react.

  
Then sounds came without the breeze. He heard voices. Soft, low. But he heard them. At first it was no more than a barely audible whisper. Then he could hear it as clearly as if the speaker was next to him. Again, he spun wildly to find who and where it was coming, but there was nothing in sight. Nahknani looked at him worried, he ignored her look, tried to compose his face, and listened.

  
You have returned and so soon, Dragonseed. Those that are left are so very glad to have you within our humble confines once more. You have fire, we see, and that is good. Those that are left seek it. The youngest of us still yearn for the light, though they may never taste its warmth again. You and your friends have little time until we descend upon you. Tick, tick, tick. You three will be such choice morsels.

  
The light of the torch seemed dampened by the thick air, unable to illuminate the whole room. For half a heartbeat, Aegon thought to ignite the walls again, but they had yet to find the exit corridor, and the flames and heat might not affect him as badly as they would affect Nahknani and Lem. If it comes to that, yes, but we must needs hurry.

  
“Did you hear that too?” He asked Nahknani, gently shrugging her off of him to increase the groups speed.

  
“Hear what?” Nahknani’s eyes were as wide as they were beautiful. They were haunted though, as she trembled, now clutching herself, her auburn colored arms wrapped tightly around her mostly bare skin and pelt. “What did you hear?”

  
He thought to tell her, but the fear already in her had paralyzed her this much. The knowledge of some insidious threat, or the chance of Aegon losing his wits would frighten her even more. “We must hurry,” was all he thought he could say. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

  
He picked up his own pace to a brisk walk, increasing to a jog here and there to speed up their search for an exit. He held the dirk tightly, raised, anticipating an ambush from any direction, as his two companions scurried behind him trying to stay in the decreasing glow from the torch.

  
Your flame will fail you, Dragonseed. Your flame will fail you.

  
“No it won’t,” he said aloud, as he reached a greasy black wall. He slid the dirk out to the stone, dragged its edge against it, and rubbed what he got off onto his torch to fuel the dying flame.

  
“Who are you talking to? You’re scaring me,” she said, her voice ringing with the fierceness of a chipmunk.

  
“No one. Its nothing. Let’s go.”

  
They found another corridor. He heard their steps echo down it. He turned, running in small bursts, searching for Irahk. None. They continued.

  
“Is this the way, Lem?” He asked, somehow expecting an answer quickly from the frightened pup. He yelped back, though it was a scared yelp more than it was a confident one, and though Aegon doubted his understanding of the hahkyeen’s language at times, he could tell what he meant here.

  
“Then where boy?”

  
They stood in the corridor, only a few steps in it, still, their breath visible in the light of the torch. The temperature dropped from cold to icy, and as they stood there waiting for Lem, he heard them. Those aren’t our footsteps. Those are them.

  
“Aegon . .” she whimpered. She didn’t need to say anything more.

  
“Lem,” he raised his voice, “now or never. Where do we go?”

  
The pup bolted down the hall, running out of the light and into the darkness. Aegon and Nahknani ran just as quickly behind him, the torch light flickering in the air as they rushed through, dwindling.

  
“You mustn’t let it go out. We will be doomed down here,” she begged, her clawed hand clutched around his arm so tightly she broke through his skin.  
He didn’t slow down though. He couldn’t. “C’mon. It’ll stay lit.” He hoped aloud.

  
The walls of the corridor continued as regular jagged stone and began to thin even more. Thinner and thinner and thinner. Within a couple strides, the hall was so tight, they had to turn to their sides to fit through, the walls’ jagged edges stabbing at their chest and back as they tried to slide through. Aegon let Nahknani squeeze in front of him, his dirk hand behind him to fend off any attackers. The light of the torch was all but out. The ceiling began to shrink on top of them too. He could feel the air tighten in his lungs as he squeezed through, his chest and back ripping through the hard sharp stone. He felt the crags scrape against his head as he tried to crouch, suffocating through the narrow exit, Nahknani whimpering and breathing heavily in front of him.

  
“I’m stuck,” she cried, the footsteps growing louder. “I can’t move.”

  
“You must. Try to slink down. Walk with your hands. Fight through its not much further.”

  
“I can’t. I can’t.” She cried like a petulant child, “I can’t do it.”

  
Forward. Onward. He turned back to see what was behind him. Darkness. He tried to look past Nahknani. He couldn’t.

  
“Are your eyes open?” He asked as calmly as he could, his heart beating frantically in his compressed chest.

  
“No.”

  
“Open them, can you see light?”

  
“Yes,” hope crept back into her voice again. “I can see it. Lem’s there.”

  
“Somehow, pull yourself through. Get your body lower and crawl if you have to. Claw, dig, just get there. You can do it.”

  
She paused as quickly as she ever did. “I can do it,” she murmured to herself softly but determined. “I can do it.”

  
The walls continued to squeeze them. The ceiling continued to lower. The footsteps continued to grow louder.

  
We are almost upon you, Dragonseed. Tick, tick, tick.

  
He could hear her clawing through, scraping against the rock walls. Moaning and shrieking through the pain of the cuts as sharp edges sliced through her and him. He felt blood rushing. He felt a fingernail rip off. Just a little more.

  
She reached the opening and pulled herself out with a sigh that sounded like the scream from a birthing mother. She squeezed out of the hole in the rocks like a newborn as well, popping through, letting the sun hit him in his cut face. The dirk hand was still trailing him as he struggled through and under the lower ceiling which made it increasingly difficult to stand. He felt his body turning horizontal, kicking, clawing, squirming free of the suffocating prison of sharp jagged stone.  
He felt something scrawling for his dirk hand as he jutted it out. The blade met an object and he heard it plunge into flesh. He recoiled and stabbed again to the sound of another landed thrust. The torch went out as another hand reached, grabbing at his dirk hand. He thrusted once more, than recoiled his arm all the way in. I just got you back. I’m not losing you again. He tucked the dirk in its sheath and focused only on the opening.

  
Clawing, squirming, he reached it, poking his head through and into the light. He gasped for fresh air, but still couldn’t breathe. His chest, along with the rest of his body still stuck in the shrunken dark hall. He squirmed, freeing his shoulders, jagged rock edges cutting him all the while. He stretched his arms out, dropping the extinguished torch and dirk to grab Nahknani’s hands.

  
He felt hands grabbing at his legs as well.

  
He kicked as hard as his legs could kick with little room to swing them. He twisted his bleeding torso as much as he could, his legs churning the air, kicking cold hands and the walls, trying to burst through the crevice out of the cave and into the light.

  
Nahknani pulled with all her might, screaming, her heels dug into the dirt. Lem was yelping.

  
We have you, Dragonseed. Your journey ends before it has even begun.

  
He kicked, landing on something solid. He freed his legs from the grasping hands and Nahknani pulled him out, his body bursting through the opening like water through a broken dam, exploding onto the ground and into the light.

  
He laid back in the grass, his warm blood trickling out of so many fresh new cuts.

  
Not yet. Forward. Onward.


	24. Chapter 24

24

As Aegon and Nahknani recovered their composure from the terror of the caves, Lem quickly made his way to _his_ intended destination, the food bribe that prompted their dry alternative to crossing. Lying in a soft patch of grass, Nahknani looked around. She seem to vaguely recognize her surroundings and began audibly charting their course to her clan's encampment. When Lem returned, eating his fill of the bribe, they gathered their things and continued into the wood.

This section of forest seemed much less perilous, the three traversed what felt like a great distance in what felt like a short time. The trees fanned out, growing much more sparsely than the dense brush they'd spent their recent time in, and intermittently throughout the trip, small ponds followed a vassal stream, which Nahknani deemed drinkable. She bent over and drank straight from the source. Aegon still felt more comfortable boiling his. She had lived drinking this water her entire life. Her body was used to it. Aegon was obviously not, and considering the extreme wear he'd recently put his body through, he figured it best to err on the side of caution.

The forest floor was covered in dead leaves and yellow moss, softer and almost comfortable to walk on. Docile wildlife filled the air with calls, hoots, and grunts, but their sounds echoed in a more musical way than a threatening one. Nahknani stopped multiple times to pick from thick bushes covered in bright green berries. Aegon tried them. Although the taste was too bitter for his liking, the size and fullness of the berries felt satisfying in his gut. Aegon filled the leaf pouch with them, knowing their food stores were low after bribing Lem with the remaining hahkyeen.

As far as he'd seen, this was the most desirable section of the forest so far, lands in the domain of Nahknani's father and clan. Lands which remained, it seemed, a reason for the dispute looming over the all of the Brindled People he had met and heard of. A topic that now recovered and across the river, he felt the best to discuss now, before arriving at the encampment.

After their third stop at a pond, they sat to eat and drink he said, "I spoke with your uncle at length. He opened up to me about his exile. You know of it?"

Without pausing, which was unusual, she responded, "I was not yet old enough to be involved in the decision. I am aware of it, but all I know is why my father felt it best that he be sent away. He was too powerful with all his warriors to be trusted. He posed a threat to the peace of the community and was sent away. Other than that, it has not been something anyone wishes to speak of. It is not something commonly asked or easily answered. From what I'm told, people of my clan respected my uncle and he was well liked. I remember him fondly, though I was just a youngling." Aegon could hear the affection in her voice as she seemed to stare off in the distance to reminisce as she spoke. _Should I even tell her what he said? How could I not knowing we are going into the same den that allowed the slaughter of his family?_

"Do you remember your aunt and cousin?"

"I remember little of my aunt, though I don't know what ever happened to her. Is she at the camp with him?"

He knew he'd have to tread carefully with Ootrahk's story. Daughters rarely found stories of their father's monstrosities easy to hear. Even more rarely would they accept them as truth, especially from both the lips of a relative stranger and the words of an exiled general. "The story he told me, why he was exiled, involved your aunt and cousin," he paused both nervous and hesitant, hoping he was taking the right tact, ". . and father."

"And? Why do you act like this? What is this story?" _This is already starting off wrong._

"He told me your father allowed the brutal murder of your aunt and cousin at the hands of JaHarle 'The Thief in the Night'."

She looked puzzled and said, "JaHarle Yisstrihk? Old Yarl? He could not have done such a thing as this. Why would my uncle have issue with Old Yarl?"

"He said JaHarle was known as 'The Thief in the Night' for taking women and girls from your clan over the river and claiming them as their own. He would sell the women back saying they crossed on their own, insulting the council and the men of the clan and continuing to blatantly break the laws of your people with no consequence. Your aunt and cousin were taken once. Your uncle fought to get them back and in the process killed all that guarded them, JaHarle's mother among the dead. For that, JaHarle ordered the deaths of him and his family, though his family was killed first and he fought back to save his own life. This is what he told me before he let me go, back to you, which he knew you were following the whole time."

The shocking news left her face aghast and paler. He didn't know whether to console her or prepare for an altercation, but the story she was told affected her deeply."Old Yarl has been like an uncle to me for as long as I can remember. I am supposed to be joined with his son upon the new year and together we may rule both clan's as one council. I cannot see him doing a thing as this." Her face turned, twisting as if she tasted something foul. "You say my uncle set you free to find me? He must have told you this to cause dissention in our ranks." Her face strained to remain stoic, though he could see emotion welling behind the stone face she displayed.

The forest floor rustled around them. Lem yelped, but as they checked for what moved, there was nothing but roots and branches beneath the layer of fallen leaves. "We can continue this as we move, yes?" She asked.

 _We should finish this conversation before I face captivity again._ He thought, "We can move, yes, but are we sure we are going somewhere safe?"

"My father will know what to do. We will go to him and tell him about all you've seen and heard and he will help us judge the best way." Aegon was worried she'd think that. From what he could tell, Nahknani's father cared only for the life of himself and his daughter, if he even cared about that.

"Your uncle said that JaHarle's clan has steel. Is that true?"

"True enough. I have never seen his warriors bear it in our lands, though he makes mention of it many times in more heated talks with our people. Years ago when my uncle was exiled, our people needed protection. Old Yarl provided us with men and spears to help guard against dangers and enemies on both sides of our territory, especially the edges that border the lands my uncle was exiled to. None are allowed to cross branches of the river uninvited. For years Old Yarl's men have had many battles with the exiles, and won them all. None of my uncle's raids has ever been successful."

"So JaHarle's warriors are the ones charged with protecting your people? Have they ever abused their power? Are they good men?"

"You ask are they _good._ Like you say, 'Do they do the right thing.' I don't know of this. I know that some of them are _good_ at killing. I know some of them are _good_ at hunting. Or tracking. But warriors are warriors. They live their life with blood in their mouth. After they return from a successful battle, my people offer," she paused, "gifts. For all transactions, there is payment."

Aegon could tell from the tone of her voice that the payment in many senses was not "what was right." Her telling of the circumstances made her clan sound more like captives than partners with JaHarle, and as it seemed, Nahknani had grown up in a culture of oppression she had become accustomed to. Without their own fighting force to stand up to injustices, her people were no more than sheep to be used as JaHarle seemed fit. Furthermore, what were the chances of any group winning _all_ their battles? The "battles" they mentioned, were more likely as imaginary as their peace.

"So they take women as their 'gifts' then?" He asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

"You must understand," she said in a defensive tone, "Our people are more brutal than in your pink world. We live in a place that kills us as often as it provides for us. Men and women are raised to know the savage truths of life here, and we live in a way the pink could not survive."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Yes. The women are their gifts," she admitted. _So he went from stealing the women away to expecting their cooperation with one strategic exile._

"Your women. The women of _your_ clan. Your father permits this?"

"He expects it. It is the least we can do for the protection we're provided."

"And those you are protected from are the same men that have been exiled from their families? Would these men hurt your women? _Their women?"_

As she continued to defend the ways of her people, her fervor behind each argument dwindled. Her face had changed and the playful sass he expected from every quip she retorted was replaced with a somber defeated reply of, "I don't know."

Aegon usually relished in winning arguments, swaying people's notions of what they thought was right into believing his opinion. He could not relish in Nahknani's realization of the truth of her people. Of her father. It was clear to Aegon the more and more Nahknani explained of her people, that her father was one of two things. Either he was a weak, craven overseer allowing the brutal rape and torture of his people for fear of conflict with JaHarle's clan or he was a complicit monster in league with the neighboring clan's leader systemically dishing sorrow to his people for personal gain. Aegon hoped he was the former, for if he were to meet a man that fit the description of the latter, he would not survive his trip to her clan's territory. He might not survive either way.

Aegon wanted to finish discussing the specifics to know how to proceed and who was involved. "These warriors. Are they led by someone? Is there a captain of your guard?"

She replied, defeated, "Old Yarl's son JaHahn Yisstryhk is the leader of our guard."

"Your betrothed."

"Betrothed?" She asked, tilting her head.

"It means who you are promised to. You said you were to be joined with him upon the new year."

"Yes. It is a pact as our people have and will become one. Old Yarl's clan and ours will form into one large clan upon the passing of both my father and Old Yarl. They will both live for many years, it seems, but once they've passed, it will be a joint rule."

"I thought your people chose leaders to a council? You do see how this 'Old Yarl' fits more of the description of your uncle's story than the man you have come to know. Or thought you knew. None of this is done to help your people. None of this was done to keep peace. It was a take-over. JaHarle has conquered you and your clan with little more than threats. Your father has allowed your people to become his thralls, your women his pleasure slaves, and your lands his own. What are we going to do when we get to your home?"

"My father loves our people. He would not see them die." She looked grief stricken. The ideal of her father had fully melted away into the truth of who and what he was.

"Some might say it is better to die fighting injustice than living blindly while injustice spreads. Where is your mother? Is she part of the council too?"

"No," she replied quickly with a sober, somewhat grave tone. He couldn't continue to berate her in this for fear of losing her as an ally, but he wanted to make sure she understood what they'd have to do to survive this. "She left my father when I was young, crossing over to the other side of the river. I have not seen her since I can remember and my father has only ever spoke lovingly of her."

_He took her too. He probably still has her. And Nahknani's father lives and serves in fear of what might happen to her._

It was an understandable circumstance despite how fervently he disagreed with it. Fear can be a very powerful motivator, and the fear of suffering on those you love may just well be the strongest.

"He has your mother too, most like. We are walking into the den of the enemy now, you know this for the truth now, don't you?"

"No," she said, glaring back both in defiance and denial. "We will sneak in to meet my father alone and discuss with him what should be done. What you say may be, but what you say could also be lies from our enemy. You know nothing of our ways, Aegon the Valyrian."

It was the best he could hope for. Traipsing into the encampment guarded by JaHarle's men with news of JaHarle's alliance with Ghiscari slavers would most likely be met in the same way Ootrahk greeted him, or worse. He was glad to be healed, and free. He wasn't intent on rushing into another captivity. At least confronting Nahknani's father individually, she could potentially sway him into trusting Aegon, though it would make little difference if Nahknani's father was the craven owned and controlled by JaHarle that Aegon suspected.

They waited for the cover of darkness as he, she, and Lem loitered a quarter mile outside of the encampment until nightfall. She knew the best ways to sneak in and out, something she must have been accustomed to, circling around the posted guards and slipping into the hide tent Nahknani designated as her father's.

They found him sitting, cross- legged, with his eyes closed on a bed of leaves. He seemed like he was meditating or in prayer. Nahknani had never mentioned god or the gods, but faith in some form seemed to permeate through all of the known world, why not here?

She reached out for his shoulder and gently nudged him into the now. He slowly opened his eyes, a sharp blue to match his daughter's, saw her and smiled, his mouth stretching across revealing his fangs.

He was much slighter than Ootrahk, though he seemed taller. His long, thinner limbs wrapped around him in his meditative pose, like snakes, nimbly bent in an almost unnatural looking position. His face was lined with years, even through the thick ashy gray pelt which sprouted thin course hair, balding in the pattern of a pink man with a widow's peak, his hair pulled back in a widow's knot. He wore similar garb to Nahknani, vines tightly wrapped around, but his chest was bare, still built, but not as full as the warriors he'd already been exposed to. He had the same jaw, the same unibrow, and the same fierce expression as his brother, but the burning fire he saw in Ootrahk had fizzled out long ago. The only trace of vivacity in him, was the spark that kindled in his eyes as he recognized his daughter's touch.

Aegon stood in the shadows of the tent until Nahknani introduced him. He spoke lovingly to her, in a soft concerned voice. They spoke in their native tongue, so Aegon could only guess their words by the inflection of their voices and the gestures they made as they spoke. Logically, one could deduce the father's words went something like, "Nani, it is so good to see you," based on the joy in his eyes and longing in his tone. Which then switched to something like, "We were worried. You should not have been gone so long," as his tone altered to stern and concerned. Only to shift back into a loving soft tone, as the two embraced.

She began her own explanation, it seemed, as to why she had been gone. She spoke, then pointed to Aegon, gesturing for him to step out from the shadows. She switched from her native tongue to Valyrian saying, "I'd like to introduce you to the reason I am still alive. This man saw me struggling under the fallen tree and saved me." _She's since saved me as well._ "His name is Aegon Velaryon, a trader from Westeros. His ship was destroyed and he washed up here. He's seen much and more and I've brought him here to speak with you."

The man adjusted his long legs then stood. His head and shoulders kept rising until he was taller than even Ootrahk, though huddled in a crouch under the tent. The gleam in his eye extinguished as his gaze turned from his daughter to the stranger. The lines on his forehead crunched the dry cracking skin together as he furrowed his one brow into a fierce scowl. "Thanks is in order. For saving my daughter, I and my people are forever grateful. However, you must go. This is not the best time for us to be entertaining strangers, I fear. Go now."

Nahknani replied to her father in her own tongue with the same sass she'd demonstrated the entire time he'd known her. Her face flashed expressively as each guttural word shot out of her mouth like a crossbow of dissention, her hands and body moving as much as her lips. Her father responded stoic as a stone, unmoved by his daughter's plea.

She switched back to Valyrian, saying, "Father, he came to us knowing the danger it presented only to tell us what he thought would keep us safe. He is _good_ for the sake of good. He does, not thinking of what he wants to gain, but what other's might lose. Tell him, Aegon the Valyrian. Tell him what you've seen. What you've come to know."

He did. He opened up to Nahknani's father, who had still yet to introduce himself, about all of it. Of his brother's clan's trade deal with the Ghiscari in the forest. Of the three Ghiscari and their talk of treachery. Of the ships he'd seen and the attack on Ootrahk's camp. He told him all that he'd seen, holding on to the truth of what he knew until the rest had been explained.

"Ootrahk is your brother, right?" Aegon asked, hoping the admission of their kinship would help solicit feelings of guilt to help his cause.

"I called the man many things. Some true, some not, but my brother he will always be." He said in the best Valyrian he'd heard yet from the Brindled Men.

"Well, your brother took me aside wondering why I would warn him. He said he planned to lead an attack on 'His people' as he said, but then later clarified. He wasn't planning to attack _you_ but JaHarle. He meant to avenge his family and reclaim the lands and people he has all but conquered."

"Tread carefully. My gratefulness and graciousness are not unlimited. You have spoken out of turn and already said too much. None of the business of my people should concern you and you must go now or forever regret your hesitation." His speech sounded reminiscent of his brother's upon their first meeting.

"Your brother was attacked by Ghiscari. They mean to enslave your . ."Aegon started.

Her father broke in, "I told you that is not your concern."

"Father," she said, "he has risked his life now, twice to help us. He says he knows of the man who leads the Ghiscari, Zlatan zo Xuxus, and that he is a man we should fear. He betrayed uncle's men already and means to come for us too."

He spoke to her in their tongue, deferring to his daughter in tone, if not in words. They went back and forth with each other. His words in a sullen monotone. Hers stressed in a desperate plea. Between spats back and forth, Nahknani would avert her concerned gaze quickly to Aegon, then back to her father as if she were pleading for his life. _There's a chance she is and it doesn't seem like she's winning._

"Again, friend, you must go and you must go now! Any further delay will cause much more than harm."

Aegon felt his chance to sway him dwindling away, "What do you not understand? If you care for your people as much as your daughter believes you do, you'd at least hear me out. JaHarle is in league with the Ghiscari and your people are the next to be enslaved."

He broke in, shouting loud enough for the entire camp to hear, "If every woman and child left in this village must be enslaved to save my kin, then I will close the shackles! It is not for you to decide, this is not a choice. It is either do as they say or my daughter will die!" He turned to Nahknani and spoke their tongue. His eyes seemed to say _I'm sorry._

"Father, no!" she pushed by him and grabbed Aegon by the shoulder, pulling him towards the tent's exit with haste.

He let out a shriek, calling out loudly.

"What is he saying," he asked as they slipped out of the tent and into the darkness.

"He's yelling to the guards. The Valyrian intruder is here."

_My reputation precedes me._


	25. Chapter 25

25

A horn sounded from outside the tent alerting the guard as Aegon and Nahknani slipped into the nearby brush to make their escape attempt. Aegon whistled to Lem, who quickly bounded over from the spot he was ordered to stay, and the three scurried away, once again, running through the dark.

Aegon's vision paled in comparison to those big blue eyes of his companion, so he trusted her path as she led them through as quickly as possible. Before long, he could hear the guard filling rank, preparing for a search of the woods. He heard the commands of someone in charge shouting out to his subordinates in their tongue. "What are they saying?" Aegon asked.

"They're organizing the search. He says I must not be touched and to save you for him and the slavers."

"Who's 'him'?"

"JaHahn. The leader of the guard and my betrothed, as you say."

Aegon stopped, pulling away from Nahknani's grasp. She whipped around, her eyes glowing from the distant light of the search party's torches. "Go," he told her, "You are no help to me if they believe you're a part of my plan, whatever that is." He said, developing one as he spoke to her. "If I am captured, the only way you would ever be trusted enough to help me is if they didn't suspect you. Run with me now, they'll eventually find us, and you will be punished. For that I am sure, but if you go back now and act as if you were my captive or at least not on my side, they might leave you alone enough to free me. If they catch me of course."

He could hear the marching orders from JaHahn and felt the party's progress as the ground rumbled beneath him. "How many are stationed here with JaHahn?" She paused. "C'mon, quickly, they're coming."

"Usually six, sometimes as much as ten." _Ten Brindled Men. Fuck._

He pulled out his dirk and wrapped the jahkyar cloak around his left arm, "Are they seasoned fighters?"

"No. For that, count yourself lucky. Only JaHahn and Niisnihk, the big one, are dangerous. Well, all are bigger than you," he couldn't see the face she was making, but he knew she was smirking that evil smirk. "Don't die." She reached out her furry hand and touched his face.

"Like you said. Their orders are to keep me alive. As long as they follow orders, I'll be fine. I'd say take Lem with you, but he's probably going to follow you anyway. Now go. Circle back around so it doesn't look like you ran with me."

Nahknani paused again, her eyes shining in the torchlight that continued to get closer, "Go," he whispered softly, "I will see you again."

He turned and ran east, crouching and skulking through the bushes and trees to flank the thundering column of Brindled Men. He could hear their steps pass him, as he waited in the cover of a thicket of thorn bushes. They rushed past him, following his original trail, stopping where the trail stopped. The leader, most likely JaHahn ordered to them, gruffly grunting loudly enough that Aegon could hear clearly, though he understood not a word.

After their orders, the group dispersed. Two in each direction, as their torches betrayed their chances of stealth, to reveal a total of eight Brindled Men, including their general and his pet, a hulking freak for even a Brindled Man, standing a full two feet above his leader as the three groups of subordinates left in different directions. One group was headed directly to the bush Aegon was hiding. _Good._

The group walked inches away from him, and passed him without hesitation. When they were more than a few steps away, Aegon slipped silently out of his bush, and followed behind them, dirk in hand, carefully sneaking through the brush, moving only when the Brindled Men's movements in front of him were loud enough to cover his own.

The pair looked young for Brindled Men, slighter and shorter. He could hear them bickering back and forth with each other as they ran. It was hard to make out anything other than their silhouettes in the dark, but as he chased them, he kept vigilant waiting for his opportunity.

The ground began to descend as the pair began downhill, their pace and noise level increasing. Aegon followed anticipating the right moment. When the floor suddenly dropped two feet at what could be described as a miniature cliff, the two slowed, stopped, then descended one at a time.

As the first turned to continue downhill, Aegon jumped onto the second beast's back as he climbed down the drop, plunging the dirk downward into the beast's neck as he covered its mouth to mute the bubbling choke that resulted. The huge body fell limp below him as Aegon pounced off and around the first. When the first turned to respond to the noise of his fallen partner, Aegon had already circled around and behind him. He jumped onto the its back, plunging the dirk downward into the front of the beast's neck as his left arm wrapped around his shoulder and his legs wrapped around his back. He lifted the dirk and shoved it back down, this time higher up on the neck to quell any pending scream. The Brindled Man crumbled underneath him as blood bubbled and spurt out of both neck wounds. Laying on the forest floor, he felt sorry for the fallen foes. He ran to save these Brindled Men, not to slaughter them, but somewhere deep inside he felt a rush of warrior's pride. The brutal voice in his head screaming victoriously _I am Aegon Velaryon, Survivor of Seas, King of the Jungle, Killer of Brindled Men!_ Blood lust raised a heat from inside as his heart began to beat more intensely, and the sounds of the forest echoed around him as bugs and birds cheered his victory. _Two down. Six to go._

The first two had come directly to him. The rest would be much harder as they continued to spread; tracking what they thought was him. Nahknani's clan's forest wasn't as dense as the other sections he'd been through though, and each group's torches betrayed their location.

He followed another group of stray light down to the river, where two more Brindled Men thought they'd find him crossing. They stayed on their side, only looking at the far bank for footprints. The river was not as wide here and maybe they thought he could have jumped or scurried over, so they held their torches up, standing at the edge of the river bank, their toes nearly in the water, straining their vision to check the other side. It was almost too easy.

Once he was close enough to hear the two men joking back and forth, he readied himself for his strike. He slipped the dirk out and charged. He rushed past them crouching, slicing the tendons that connected their heels to their calves on all four legs. As they began to scream, only now noticing the attack, he planted his foot and spun back toward them slashing the first with a right overhand strike to the one's face, following with a back handed slash at the other's chest. The face slash immediately dropped the first beast, his features opening and spilling onto Aegon as the second countered with his staff thrusting a strong but poorly formed parry to block Aegon's third strike, another forehand slash.

The dirk is a nimble weapon and Aegon followed the strong parry with a deft backhand swipe, the Seahorse blade darting through the air like a dragonfly. The beast parried again, but stretched his arms too far to meet the blow, leaving him exposed. In half a heartbeat, Aegon shot another quick thrust to the beast's chest that sunk deep into his ribs. He slid the dirk out as the Brindled Man dropped to his knees and splashed into the edge of the river, his dead partner's face still bleeding into the sand of the bank, both torches fallen and beginning to ignite the dry brush around their corpses.

The screams alerted the other guards as the remaining torches bobbed down in the dark descending upon him. He scurried away as embers sparked into full blown flames behind him.

Only two of the remaining torches descended to the river bank as Aegon sheathed the dirk and scrambled up a nearby tree just out of the orange glow of the building flames. He reached a branch thick enough to step onto, and braced himself against the trunk for cover and support. He pressed his face against the bark, like he did before he first saw the beasts that day that seemed so long ago. He watched the light of the two torches bouncing down the hill as two of the remaining four guards approached and reached the latest murder scene. As they neared, he hoped it was the two novices. When their faces were revealed by the light of the flames, a sigh of relief escaped his mouth.

They saw the scene and their focused faces immediately shrunk to frightened ones. The flames from the fire continued to spread, the flares licking out at new dry brush to ignite and the fire quickly spread to a blaze. Smoke and orange light clouded around the two guards as they fled from the scene, passing under the branch Aegon was perched upon.

Like the jungle cat he killed, he pounced, the dirk firmly in his hands and pointing down, he landed dirk first into the trailing guard as the two scurried away from the increasing heat of the blaze. As the guard in front heard the bodies fall, Aegon rolled off the fresh corpse and into the smoke from the fire, the heat a welcome rush as he stepped into the burning brush unscathed. He flanked, circled, and closed in on the remaining guard from behind, jumping once again onto the larger warrior's back with the dirk plunging into the front of the guard's neck where his collarbone met his chest. The muted moans, hollowed as his latest victim's body folded neatly beneath him. The blaze continued to spread as an orange smoky haze floated over and across the forest floor. The village began to rise and rabble as sounds of chaos started to hum in the distance. _Six down._

He looked around. Nothing but smoke and orange haze was visible as the forest around him was completely engulfed in the rising flames. He looked for the tree he climbed to gain a better vantage point. He wanted to see if he could find the two remaining guards, JaHahn and Niisnihk, or if fleeing was the better option. He reached the tree and began to climb it, sheathing the dirk and covering his face from the oppressive smoke swirling.

He ascended a few feet, his knees and thighs scraping up the rough trunk as he squeezed his legs to climb. The air was black and orange around him as the ash from the first flames started to swirl in the haze. If he reached the branch, he could assess his next move. Then something grabbed him, pulling him forcefully off the trunk and lifting him into the air. He saw the tree slip away as the force turned hum and threw him down, the forest floor rushing to meet him.

He rolled and turned, facing his attacker. _Niisnihk._

The Brindled Beast stood before him, all of ten feet tall, with shoulders that would fit an aurochs. He wore a bright white vine wrapped around his forehead to hold the thick tufts of mane that framed his gargantuan head back from falling on his face. Aegon couldn't determine where his neck ended and where his chest began, as the huge frame in front of him stepped toward him, slowly. His bulky arms swung like inverted trebuchets as he lumbered one heavy step after another, calmly approaching his prey. As Aegon's mind cleared and he gathered himself off the ground, he couldn't help but feel intimidated by the ease in which his foe approached. _To him, I'm no fiercer than a rabbit._

Sharp cat-like eyes gleamed bright yellow in the light of the flames. His chin was as wide as a doorway, shaped more like an oversized plow than the bottom of a jaw. His mouth was as wide as a man, full of sharpened fangs more like daggers than teeth. His brow jutted out from his skull far and straight enough to rest a chalice on. His huge body wasn't chiseled from stone like Ootrahk's, but the massive bulks of boulder that built him up from the ground were twice as thick. _His gut though. His chest and belly jiggle as he moves. Not in the best shape, now are you?_

He'd be extremely strong, Aegon knew. Strong enough to rip him apart limb from limb. He'd seen smaller men do the same in the fighting pits. _This beast could pop my head like a locust and swallow it whole._ But he wasn't quick, slow in fact. As he lumbered toward Aegon, he seemed to almost out of breath, as if walking was enough to tire him. _He did manage to throw me this far though. Gods, I must've flown twenty feet!_

The mountainous giant steps away, Aegon hopped from the ground to his feet and bounced, retreating a bit further to judge his opponent. He quickly checked the area. The giant beast had thrown him away from the flames, though the smoke and ash still swirled around them and after the quickest of glances, it didn't look like JaHahn was around to ruin his plan, so he ran. He started with a slow jog, until he heard the gait of his pursuer increase from walk to run. Then, he ran faster, toward the flame. He could feel the giant feet behind him trembling the floor beneath his feet, slowing gaining. The pounding behind him boomed faster and faster. The flames licked at his face as he strode into the heat, but the giant refused to stop, his face a good two feet above the highest flare.

Aegon looked back, saw he had enough room between them, then pivoted to a halt facing the giant. As Niisnihk tried to stop, he widened his stance, shortening his strides to quick stabs at the ground. He was steps away from Aegon when he stopped. Niisnihk reached down to grab him, folding powerfully but clumsily, like an avalanche. Aegon dove and rolled under and between the monster's legs, raking the inside of his thigh with the sharp steel edge of the dirk, opening up a slice from knee to groin. The beast roared, throttling in Aegon's ears with the deep bone chilling tone of a lion. Then, he cursed something in their language which sounded just as ferocious. As Aegon popped back to his feet and into a balanced ready stance, flames licking at his face and heels, the beast turned and lunged onto all fours, sending up puffs of ash, charging at him like a galloping destrier armed with the fierce mouth of a carnivore, his sharp ten-inch fangs bared and gaining. _Shit. This is new._

He pounced and Aegon jumped, soaring just above and around the snapping jaws and into the smoke swirling the battle. He flipped and swiped down with the dirk landing a glancing blow to the side of the beast's face, but Aegon landed off balance in an awkward roll. The beast pivoted on its four feet and lunged back at him as he watched, rising from off his back.

Aegon rolled forward as the front paws of the attacker smashed down behind him. He rolled onto his feet, just underneath the attackers jiggling gut, and jumped up into it with the dirk, thrusting as hard as he could, pushing up as if he meant to cut clear through. As his body lifted off the ground, the beast coiled his back legs up defensively, crushing his knee into Aegon's face like a battering ram, sending Aegon's body to meet the charred and burning ground with a crash.

The dirk hit its mark, and somehow Aegon managed to hang on to it after the blow to his head, but his body was flat against the ground, under the beast, blood spilling onto Aegon's legs, as a huge paw wrapped around his torso. Aegon swung the dirk, but Niisnihk's other huge arm blocked his strike at the wrist, knocking the dirk out of his grasp, to the ground just out of reach. The beast squeezed, his palm comfortably large enough to wrap around Aegon, as he rose to one knee, to standing, and lifted Aegon in the air to his face. To his mouth.

The beast's grasp around him tightened, his claws digging through layers of his skin. He gasped, struggling to breathe. He looked around, squirming, trying to get free. Only smoke and fire surrounded him, as the giant lifted him near a burning branch. _Fire._

He spoke saying, who the fuck knows what, laughing at himself after his words finished. Aegon reached for the burning branch fully engulfed in flame. He grasped it, the crackling wood cool in his left hand, his missing finger itching in the soft embrace of the flame's kiss. He had always enjoyed heat. Food never burnt his lips. Braziers were never too close. Even at the killer fish pool on his first day in the jungle, it wasn't the flames that burnt, but the raw skin, inflamed and burning in the contaminated water. The words of House Velaryon meant little and less to him. They were stupid, in fact. "The Old. The True. The Brave." Sure they were his father's words, but were they? For all accounts, Jacaerys Velaryon was as much a bastard as Har of the Harbour, in fact, maybe more-so. Jacaerys Velaryon and Sarah Snow were wed in the Godswood of Winterfell by some accounts, and he was the trueborn son of that union. His father could have been the illegitimate son of Harwin Strong on Queen Rhaenyra, making his words either the Strong words, which he'd never heard, or the words of every Waters in the Crownlands: nothing.

Despite all that, he knew who his grandmother was. Who his father _really_ was. Who he was. _Who I am._ We are Targaryen, the blood of the dragon. And our words are _Fire and Blood._

He jabbed the burning branch into the small yellow eye of his foe. He stabbed at the other one. He pulled back and forth, stabbing, stabbing, stabbing. The air stunk of burning hair as the huge brindled hand dropped Aegon to clutch at the burning face it belonged to. A drowning bellow saved solely for the dying filled the air, as the monster spun blindly in the flames, grasping at his face to save his already lost vision. The burning branch was long enough to jab into the eye and brittle enough that it probably broke off inside it. The subsequent jabs only shortened the branch. The beast would never see again.

Nor would he breathe. Aegon scurried to the dirk, grabbed it, and charged. Niistrihk was still walking wildly in circles, clawing at the flames in his eyes. Aegon stabbed and tackled him into the heart of a roaring flare as the flames danced, licking at the air, engulfing the monstrous body as it fell in.

The beast's hair caught fire. It's skin sizzled. The well marbled meat on his bones roasted in the intense heat that felt soothing to Aegon. He stood up, pulled the dirk from the monster's back and raised it for a strike. With his left hand, he grabbed the beast's mane, lifting his shrieking head up off the ground as he came down with the dirk. He swung and swung, reminding himself of Xenus, hacking at the beast's neck like a tree trunk, only chipping away at the thick, muscled flesh one small, savage chunk at a time. He screamed, roaring in a blind rage, his blood burning in his veins as the flames around him licked cooly and coyly at his skin, the blaze singeing his garments, save his rough leather boots and the jahkyar cloak that had already fallen off of him. Hacking and hacking, he roared, until finally he cut through, his arms burning from the effort, and lifted up the head the size of his torso, so big, he could barely lift at all.

He sheathed the dirk, then grabbed the head with both hands, lifting it into the sky as he continued to roar, the fire crackling and dancing around him. Drops of rain began to fall, as the night sky was soon opening into a downpour. He stopped screaming and looked around. At first, he saw nothing but thick black smoke rising off the charred ground into the blackness of the night. The embers around him still fighting to remain aflame, orange and sizzling, cheered his triumph with every drop of falling rain. Then he saw the forest. The remaining light from the coals gave off enough light to see the gathering around him. His sudden instinct was to prepare himself for more battle, but the Brindled Men gathering before him weren't more guards, they were onlookers. A mob of townsfolk, all women and children, gathering as an audience to his death match.

He stood, slightly downhill from the crowd in the orange glow of embers, as the mob began to make noises. They grew louder and louder, some chant or song it sounded like, though in their tongue it could have been anything. Their voices grew louder and louder as more appeared, gathering in the rain, under the swirling smoke, chanting something repetitive. _Drahkness Kahn. Drahkness Kahn. Drahkness Kahn._

They kept chanting it, over and over, until he dropped the head down to the ground, to drag it by the mane up the hill to his audience. He walked into the crowd as they opened around him, chanting, their brindled faces smiling, their huge fangs bared from ear to ear. They hooted and cheered him, chanting all the while, as he ascended the small hill to the center of their encampment, to Nahknani's father's tent.

She approached him, smiling herself. She said nothing, allowing the voices of her people, the mob now following closely behind him, chanting over and over.

"What of JaHahn?" he yelled to her, trying to speak above the noise of the crowd.

"He left when he sent Niisnihk after you. He must be retreating to his father's lands. They'll surely be back." She yelled, still smiling.

He lifted the head again, turned it to his audience, then threw it towards the entrance to her father's tent. The crowd roared in approval, then continued to chant.

He looked at her. She was still smiling. He asked, "What are they chanting?"

" _Drahkness Kahn."_

"What does it mean?"

Her lips were spread from ear to ear. She replied, "Dragon King."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The titular chapter.
> 
> I hope you're as pumped as I was when I first wrote this, and after when I first read it.
> 
> Let me know what you think.
> 
> Thank you, you awesomely awesome hooligans.
> 
> HS


	26. Chapter 26

A/N I want to sincerely thank anyone that has read, followed, favorited, and commented on Sothoryos. I'm copying something I saw from someone on here that made a lot of sense to me. The reason I enjoy doing this is because I'm passionate about what I'm doing, but the reason it is easy to do is because of the follows and feedback that help drive me to keep writing.

This is my first time writing fanfiction. I've written things before, but only for myself, so having this forum to share with like minded people is a refreshing respite from my real world devoid of anyone intellectual or geeky enough to share this with. My sincerest thanks go to Awkane, Zoom99, Felon GT, Tom-Borr, Serrae, red2016, and even Dickwadd. And let's be honest, what else could I expect from someone named dickwadd other than some trolling about the dog trope. Yes it is tired, but to be fair, the character is meant to mirror Jon in many ways (Lem being one of them) and its a hahkyeen, not a dog. But even so, thank you, thank you, thank you for even reading that far. Feedback from you all is the most valuable thing to me. I care most about how someone reading perceives this story and what thoughts it provokes. Thank you. Enjoy the home stretch.

26

In the culture of the Brindled Men, the Dragon Kings of Old Valyria are held in high esteem, featured heavily in the oral traditions. Stories with Dragon Kings as either the heroes or villains passed down from generation to generation as favorites of Brindled Children. The silver haired, purple eyed, pink skinned men stood out as the only warriors in the known world strong and powerful enough to defeat a Brindled Warrior in single combat. To hear Nahknani tell it, her favorite stories were about the Brindled Men who defeated the Dragon Kings on Basilisk Point, destroying the stronghold they had built and chasing them back into the sea. The Dragon Kings eventually won back the lands, only to then lose them again to plague, but the point of her story was to explain her people's reverence for men of his kind. Valyrians.

None of the common people in Nahknani's village spoke Valyrian. It seemed some didn't speak much at all, but they all knew the stories, he was told, and Aegon embodied all the characteristics of the heroes of old. None of them had ever seen JaHahn's guard ever challenged, let alone beaten. The community of all women and children had even been led to believe they had yet to lose a battle, returning triumphantly to receive their promised reward. _For all transactions, there is payment._ For a smaller warrior, one pink man, to have killed not only one, but _seven_ of their unbeatable captors, what else were they to believe? To them, the man who stood before them came straight from the tales, delivering justice only fiction provided. He _was Drahkness Kahn._

Nahknani's father stayed in his tent, more likely craven than oblivious. _Still,_ thought Aegon, _there will be swift retaliation. Nahknani said it before, "They'll surely be back."_

Aegon waded through the adoring crowd to the tent, politely accepting the praise he received in their tongue, though he couldn't begin to understand a word of it other than the general message of gratitude. Their looks made him uncomfortable though he kept his face from showing it. As he once thought in the forest, he couldn't be these people's savior, he wasn't that. For all the glory in his kills, he stabbed them from behind fighting with steel against their sticks. He wasn't those heroes from the tales wielding Valyrian Steel on dragonback, armed with sorcery and dark magic as if the dragons alone weren't enough. When JaHahn came back with more of JaHarle's men, they wouldn't be caught from behind and if they wanted to risk losing it, they could match his steel with their own. With his only weapon a dirk, a hahkyeen instead of a dragon, and no magic but his resistance to flames, the returning warriors, no matter how green, would easily slaughter him.

He wasn't a savior, but he was an example. His actions showed the people what was possible. They had a choice, unlike their leader believed. The choice could mean death, it would almost certainly lead to some, but it was their only way to truly live. _They look to me for answers now. They must all know what JaHarle will order. What. . . who he will take. But they see me as a God, they put their trust blindly in a stranger._

The responsibility of this clan fell on his shoulders. _A new crew for me to fail. Gods help me steer this ship better than the last._ He reached the tent. Niistrihk's severed head rolled in front of the entrance flap in the commotion. Aegon kicked it aside and entered, Nahknani following closely behind. Lem, who followed Nahknani when they split up as he predicted, sat outside the tent, listening more quickly to Nahknani's commands then the man who had taught him to stay. _Just like Lem. Only focused on females, regardless of species._

Meditating again, or in a meditative posture, the Brindled Man's back was to them as they entered. "From the sounds out there a great victory has been won. Who defeated who and for what?" He adjusted his seat, turning toward them and returning to his cross-legged position. The expression on his face looked as if he already knew the answer.

Nahknani answered in Valyrian, "Aegon defeated the guards."

His stoic face remained unchanged. "You killed them? You killed them all?" He looked at Aegon as he spoke. The fire in his eyes had rekindled in his growing fury toward the outsider.

"All but one, father." Nahknani replied. Her father's gaze remained on Aegon.

"And which one did you happen to spare?"

"JaHahn. He ran when he saw the first six fall. He left it to Niistrihk and fled." His face saddened and turned to his daughter.

"I don't know if that is for the better or worse. Good that his son still lives. JaHarle would never forgive the loss of any more of his kin. Maybe worse that he is the one to tell him of his failure. JaHarle has other sons. Worse sons," he unwrapped his legs to stand. "You look so proud daughter. Do you know what you have sentenced us to?"

"She was no part of it. I told her to turn away. None of the guard, nor JaHahn himself saw her. I can assure you."

"I want none of your assurances, _boy."_ He hissed. His tone wet with vitriol. "Your actions may be celebrated now, but come the morrow, or the next day, when JaHahn arrives to retaliate, those men will neither know nor care of the circumstances or specifics of the deaths. They will only want retribution and compensation. You have incurred a debt you have no intentions of paying, and whether they know of my daughter's involvement or not, she will be the one to suffer this."

"Father," Nahknani said, breaking into the warming confrontation brewing within the tent, "you speak as if we have not already suffered. Will the retribution be any different than the way our people currently live? This man risked life and limb many times over to help our people. He originally confronted Ootrahk to alert he and his warriors of the impending treachery the slavers planned to dish out. Then, knowing our clan might also be affected, he raced through the jungle and through the river to get here." _Under the river_ he thought.

Her father's eyes seemed to soften, though his voice remained gruff, "Nani, our people have lived this way in the shadow of a group much larger, much stronger than we are. We suffer through to ensure the survival of our people."

"Does he still have your wife? JaHarle. He must have your wife for you to have been so obedient all these years." Aegon spoke with the full understanding of the flame he ignited. _It is better he become angry. He should be enraged. That would help him realize that this is the better course._

When he turned back to address Aegon, his eyes were full of rage, his face seething, his teeth bared, "Mention my wife again and I will rip your head from your shoulders!"

"Father," she whimpered, "is it true?"

The rage subsided and his posture folded. He turned to his daughter, his eyes now sorrowful, and opened his mouth to speak. His jaw hung there for a long moment, the silence in the tent palpable. He closed his mouth, ducked his head down in shame and softly replied, "Yes."

He looked back up to see her face change. It was as if she melted back into the young girl she was when she had first found her missing. A child's mother is not some trinket to be lost and forgotten with the passing of time. A child's mother, regardless of race, is a piece of them no matter the distance or reason for separation. That still sore wound in her heart opened up as Aegon could see the expression on her face reflect the emotions building inside her. The pauses became pregnant with the raw emotions welling in the savage faces of the Brindled Man and Woman as the realization of why all this was happening came to Nahknani. Her father was a pawn, controlled by 'Old Yarl', and her entire life had been the lie she had never opened her eyes enough to truly see. Her betrothal was a formal coup, allowed only because of the captives JaHarle held. One captive in particular. And Aegon guessed she would also realize the truth in the story of her uncle. A man, now that she knew the truth, she would empathize with much more willingly than the craven thrall who helped birth her.

His tone defeated, he spoke softly, as if only to his daughter, but in Valyrian, "Do you know the truth of your uncle and his warriors?"

"Yes. Aegon spoke with Ootrahk. He told him what was done."

"When he crossed to save his family, _our family_ , he killed JaHarle's mother. She was a savage and wicked creature, caught in the middle of flaying your aunt when Ootrahk came upon them with his maul. So full of rage and blood lust my brother was that he couldn't have known to spare any involved, so he slaughtered them all, savagely. As is our way."

He continued, "When JaHarle came to punish us, citing the crossing of the river, the butchering of his people, his offering was to take you as his hostage. Your mother forbade it. She would not allow you to be held by that monster, so she took your place. There was little else we could do but start a war. So we let him punish your uncle and banish the remaining men. Your mother has been his hostage since. Only JaHarle and Great Chahka know if she still lives or in what condition, though he still dangles her life as a threat whenever he deems it useful."

"Why would you not fight? Why would you not get her back?" Asked Aegon, inciting more anger in the eyes of her father.

The man turned to Aegon. He still didn't know his name. "Ootrahk told you what was done to his wife and daughter, yes?"

"Yes."

"That is why I stay silent. That is why I allow this treatment. Better to have a daughter alive than to have freedom and death. Even with our warriors, JaHarle has the numbers. He has the steel. He has the high ground. If I defied him, all of our people, ALL, would die at his hands. That is not something I am willing to sacrifice."

There was a truth in the man's wisdom. An old warrior's paradox. Is it better to die with valor or to live in the shame of cowardice? Is it more noble to risk one's pride for the lives of his people, or to risk his people's lives for freedom? Aegon knew where he stood. He knew what he had done. He sacrificed the lives of his entire crew in pursuit of vanity and glory. Knowing the outcome, he knew he'd choose differently now; opting to go back to Westeros instead of continuing on to Asshai. But as the people of Nahknani's clan chanted his moniker, the new assumed captain of this crew, would he once again chance the lives of those who trusted him? Would he make the same mistake twice? Or was 'the right thing to do', a sentiment new to the Brindled Men, to have let them live the way they had before? He wasn't sure. But it was too late to turn back what he'd done, and the wheels of their new rebellion were already too far in motion to stop.

"Do you hear them, father?" She asked, "They seem like they might be."

"They cheer for a Valyrian they think a God who has come to deliver them. None believe they are in danger. The Valyrian killed seven already, why not the entire host? Listen to the crowd, Nani, and you will become one of them. The rabble from the masses is as stalwart as a long blade of grass. Any slight breeze will make the grass sway. These people are no different."

"But if they knew the truth of their situation," Aegon replied, "the truth of Ootrahk's exile. The truth of your wife's captivity. The truth of the price they've paid time and time again, I believe more would risk their lives. More than you might imagine. I know I would"

"He has, father." She reached out and touched his shoulder, "As will I. We must join uncle's clan and stand against these foes, for better or worse. We are strong enough, father. I am strong enough."

Any father might have burst with pride put in the same place as this Brindled Man. The daughter he had raised in the absence of her mother seemed every bit the ideal woman, at least in a culture like this one. Strong, resilient, cunning, brave, caring, and even beautiful, the woman standing before him, challenging his wisdom, was everything one hoped a daughter, or son for that matter, could blossom into. But as proud as he must have been to hear his daughter's honor, his face still showed the hidden horror knowing what could happen to her now that she had grown into a woman of such beliefs. She could easily be killed, tortured, or worse, and his reluctance to side with her was fueled by a selfish need to keep her safe. To keep his wife safe as well.

"Your uncle has been taken. He and the warriors still living will be sold at the flesh markets by the slavers. After their attack on his camp, their leader, a Zlatan zo Xuxus, came here to meet with JaHarle and myself to discuss the rest of his campaign. There was talk of the slavers taking Ootrahk's men back to Astapor and Yunkaii. There was also talk of the Valyrian in the jungle causing trouble. Ootrahk warned of a purple eyed dragon. The man Zlatan seems to have known you."

Aegon was surprised. He knew of Zlatan, as many were. He was renowned for his cruelty and brutality. But how could Zlatan know of him?

Aegon replied back, "If Ootrahk and his men were taken, they will be boarded onto ships and brought to Essos. Did they say how soon they would be leaving?"

"Within the moon's turn. They wanted to be loaded with fresh supplies from JaHarle's clan and they will depart shortly thereafter."

"So there is still time before they have left?"

"There is some, yes. But JaHarle and JaHahn will strike back quickly. Even if we were to free Ootrahk and his men, we would still be outnumbered as little as five to one, or as many as one hundred to one. There is no way to fight them."

"Not without steel, sure, and not head on." He looked around the tent, it seemed portable. "And not here. If later questioned, if we were to fail, say you fled to survive the flames, but we cannot stay here."

"What do you propose we do?" Nahknani asked.

Thinking it through, He already decided how staying and fighting would go. For an absolute certainty the Brindled Men that returned would cut him down and kill him and all that stood with him. It was more of a question whether that decision would lead to a quick warrior's death, or a slow and tortured one. It was also inevitably lead to Nahknani and the rest of her people suffering even worse than they were now. Unimaginably worse. So the options he was deliberating never included a plan to stay. He, Nahknani, and every one of these people needed to move, and quickly. Whatever retaliation would be as swift as it was merciless.

They also couldn't run forever. The victory he had just won was only the first cinder in the brush of a conflict now fully ablaze. Eventually, the result would be either a battle or extreme concession by their clan. Maybe they could get away with playing dumb, saying they ran from the flames as he suggested before, but the only way JaHarle would believe a tale like that, would require the clan to turn him in proactively, as if they hunted him down. The clan might be spared, but for obvious reasons, he felt he could keep that option as the last resort. Save self-sacrifice, he needed the captive warriors to ever stand a chance in battle, even if he did manage to think of a cunning way confront his foes.

As he continued to ponder, needing both to move and to free Ootrahk and his warriors, the beginnings of what some might consider a plan passed through his head. "Easier to fight and defeat slavers than Brindled Men," he said, acknowledging both father and daughter. "Not all the women here are helpless. If we move quickly to where they're holding Ootrahk and take the slavers unawares, we can not only free your uncle and the warriors, but commandeer some steel and a boat or two as well. Surely some of these women can fight if need be."

The Brindled Man sullenly nodded and replied, "If their lives depended on it, yes."

"Their lives depend on it, of that I'm sure," said Aegon.

"I will summon the best fighters and archers among us. Father, do you know where they would be camped?" Nahknani said with appropriate urgency.

"Yes."

"Well you will tell me where, then take the rest of our people to safety," she ordered as if she was assuming leadership. "Pack up as little as necessary. It needs to look like we abandoned the village to avoid the fire, not that we are running away from retaliation. Do we still have our cache of bows and arrows hidden?"

"Yes. Under the bliss rock."

"Good. We will need them. I will take my girls. If we are captured or fail in our attempt, you can say we acted on our own, against your will and save the people." She nodded to the both of them, then glared at her father curtly for a moment, only to revert back to the childish grin Aegon had become accustomed to. "It is for the best father. If now I know the truth of it, how could we not fight?"

"Because we will die, daughter. Because your mother will die."

"If what you say of JaHarle is true, she has been dead for a while now or wishes it for herself. I promise you, if there is a way to save her, we will, but she gave herself up for me long ago, and if needs be, I must make the same sacrifice for you all now. And that's only if we fail, which we won't. You know I never lose, and we have _Drahkness Kahn_."

He smirked only for a flash, until she said _Drahkness Kahn._ He shuddered at the words, then reluctantly nodded in approval to her plans. She left the tent with a quick glance to Aegon as if to say, "Good luck," knowing he lingered to have more words with her father. Then it was just the two of them.

His eyes rekindled and were once again fully ablaze. Aegon meant no offense to the elder, but felt an obligation to the people to ensure the man wouldn't betray he and Nahknani as soon as they set off on their mission. "You cannot turn back now. Do not think betraying me is any different from betraying your daughter and your people. If you run back to JaHarle, he will have no mercy for Nahknani. We can trust that you will lead the people to safety and not back into the hands of our foe, yes?"

"You speak as if you are anything more than a killer. You are no hero. You have only done irreparable harm. No. I will not reveal your plans to our foe, but that still does not ensure you will leave the beach victorious. You walk into the Harpy's nest with little chance to win, and my daughter's life dangles in the balance." He stopped and took in a breath trying to relax his face. He forced his twisted expression into a calm stoic gaze once again and sighed. "She trusts you. She admires your courage and strength. She _loves_ you, it seems. For her sake, and the sake of our people, I hope that she is not with child."

"Ser, no," Aegon's face flushed red. He did not even think to consider his anger stemmed from his assumption of a physical relationship blossoming between the two. "I have not and will not dishonor your daughter. I have no intentions other than to do what is right. I apologize for killing the guards. If I knew the extent of it, I would have never risked coming here. My intention was to warn your people, not put them into further harm. Please forgive me." Aegon still didn't know the man's name. "We have still yet to be properly introduced. I come before you as no one really; a vagabond lost in a strange land with no earthly possessions or wealth other than what I carry with me. Where I'm from, my birth and lineage would fashion me a noble, royal even, but those in power cast me out as an infant, forcing me into the life a commoner. My father died in battle. My mother was taken by a fever, and as a young boy, I was forced to fend for myself, jumping aboard a merchant galley and assuming the life of a harbor rat. I do not come to your land to seek power nor do I seek anything else, your daughter's virtue included. I do not come as your savior or conquering king. My name is Aegon Velaryon, and I come to you as I am. I am but a man, humbled by destiny, following a path I believe to be true. My intentions are honest. My goal is but to save those from wrong. I heard of these slavers' plans and thought nothing more of them. But destiny brought me back to these lands, brought me to that tree to save your daughter. I am an outsider, yes, but after hearing your story, I identify with you more than you know. You are being oppressed, which I cannot ignore, and your people are suffering, which I cannot allow. I am here for a reason and I believe it is to help you and your people as much as I can. I apologize again for what I have already done. But I will not concede that what I am about to do is wrong. I do not seek your approval, but I will earn your respect. By the Old Gods and the new . . . and whatever you pray to, I promise you, if her life is in danger and the mission is lost, I will have her turn me in to JaHahn as a prisoner to ensure your people's safety. On my honor, I swear this solemn vow."

Some of the Valyrian he spoke he knew wasn't right. Some might pass right over the head of someone who had never been to Westeros, but he felt the vow he took was the right thing to do. For he was leaving this village in turmoil after arriving only mere moments ago, with a fighting force of women and the daughter of their leader, to lead an attack against a much stronger foe. It sounded like insanity to think of it in one sentence, but he knew it was right to try, and right to give himself up if it meant saving these people.

The Brindled Man smiled. His lips stretched across his face in almost the exact same way as his daughter's. "I thought you would never stop talking, Aegon Velaryon. Slayer of Brindled Men, Valyrian of the Jungle, _Drahkness Kahn."_ He reached out his hand, extending his arm towards Aegon as if to offer the greeting gesture of their culture. "I am called Ootrihk. I am but a man who was like you, but now, eroded by fear, a craven shell of what I once was. I have thought to do what you've done on more than one occasion, but this means war. I do not know if we can survive this, but as you said, destiny has brought us here. There is no turning back. I accept your vow. Though I hope you never have to follow through. I have cowered in fear and shame for long enough. The day he punished my brother was the last time I felt alive. I died when my wife was taken, my niece murdered, and my brother exiled. I too thought I was doing 'what was right' saving the rest of my people. But it is never enough. JaHarle continued to take and take until I had nothing left to give but my own people." Sadness spread through the room as both Aegon and Ootrihk heard the words. They must have finally resonated in Ootrihk's ears for the first time. His sins only now becoming real finally admitting to himself who he had become. "Go. Win. Give us our men back, steel, and boats. Will we take this fight until either they are defeated, or we are dead. I am done with fear." His shoulders slacked, as if weight he was carrying had fallen off. Relief relaxed his face. "I'm glad you forced me into this. It was the fear of the decision. The choice. You have made it for us. I am not afraid to die."

_With any luck, it won't have to come to that, but if I were so lucky, I wouldn't be on this island or in this war._


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: Thanks again for all the new likes and follows. Shout out to PokeMark17 for catching the bad upload last chapter. Please PM me or comment on thoughts and ideas about the work as knowing there are people reading makes me happy, but I still need to know what you are thinking as you do. Also shout out to Magaro Mutis for writing about Sothoryos as well. His English is hard to understand, but the GREEN TOME he's working on seems fun. There's a Spanish version as well, but I read it in English. FYI. Thanks again.

27

Nahknani led him on foot, Lem following quickly behind, as her assembled team swung from the branches above. Nine they were in total: himself, Nahknani, and a collection of warrior women that would have made Nymeria herself proud. No two were similar, save the twins, each vastly different in age, size, coloring, and temperament.

Nahknani vouched for their ability and loyalty introducing them all to him before setting off on their mission. First, there was Ihkneenee. He knew why Nahknani introduced her first. She towered over the both of them, long gaunt limbs swaying as she moved. Even her face was long, drawn to her chin as if it was weighed down. Her fur was thinning, showing her advanced age. The chestnut tufts had mostly faded with patches of gray. But she stood well over seven feet, taller than Ootrahk, and strapped to her back was an enormous bow like he had never seen. "Neenee can fire an arrow half a mile with accuracy. As a huntress, there is no match in the seven clans, but for our purposes, she will do nicely as a scout and outrider."

"Most outriders are mounted, but she should do nicely." Aegon was surprised she had even heard of the term, but war was a language as old as life. He just hoped the walking tree could stay hidden.

Next was the stout and fearsome Ooklunk. Half as high but twice as wide as Neenee. Ooklunk looked as her name sounded so much so Aegon wondered if they waited to name her or changed her name to accommodate her appearance. Her face resembled the male Brindled Men he'd seen more than the other females. It was true, in comparison, Nahknani was beautiful, breathtaking even, compared to the rest of her Brindled Women, but Ooklunk was a different kind of ugly. Her jowels hung down like a hound. Her nose turned up like a warthog's. Her eyes were crowded by puffy eyelids and bags that made it looked like she hadn't slept for days. Her disposition was just about as rosy as her features. As Nahknani introduced her as the best fighter amongst them, she only grunted in response. She was less than excited to meet the _Drahkness Kahn_ , turning immediately after being introduced to continue sharpening the edged stone attached to her maul. If Aegon didn't know any better, he could have sworn he had seen her in the forest with the tree clearers.

The twins were the next she introduced. Two younger, livelier . . . girls really, bounced up to him, their orange fur rolled into long thick strands that framed their dirty faces. They lived in the ground, as opposed to the branches and tents most of their kind settled in. Their hands were adjusted to a life of digging, their claws blunted and wide as opposed to the thinner sharper claws of the rest of them. They had a reserved energy about them, seeming mostly calm, until a burst flowed through each of them, sometimes simultaneously, and they would ignite into furious balls of activity and enthusiasm. They seemed at an age that they would have suffered the lusts of the guards he'd killed, for in their way, one might consider them pretty. Aegon struggled to pinpoint exactly what a Brindled Man might seek in a female, but they seemed to have the traits he thought would equate. Through the dirt still crusted to their fur were finer features, light hazel eyes (seemingly gold in the light of the torch), shapely figures, and a youthful playfulness that he imagined elicited the wrong kind of attention from their captors. He figured that must have been why they continued to thank him in their tongue.

As disinterested as Ooklunk was, the twins were the opposite, touching him and fawning over him as Nahknani had in the forest. Nahknani visibly fumed at the sight, promptly shooing them off to Aegon's amusement. "Jealous?" he asked. She ignored him.

She then quickly paraded the last three in front of him. Yunee, Vihktoona, and Sheree, three unassuming, plain looking Brindled Women. They stood before him, meek, damaged. Certainly, they too were abused by their captors, but showed less appreciation for their deaths, outwardly at least. They varied in appearance but shared the same look and stance. Unassuming, they held their sharpened sticks like walking staffs, unsure of how to use them otherwise most like. But as they stood before him, he could see the fire in their eyes. The fire missing from when he first saw Ootrihk. A burning rage inside had been stoked by the hope from his victory into the flame of defiant action. Or so he imagined. They saught blood, vengeance, or to free their men, as all three looked older than Nahknani and younger than Ihkneenee. Their husbands or sons could be the ones who needed rescue. He was glad to have them whatever the reason.

When they set off into the dark forest again, racing the impending dawn, hoping to reach the slavers before they woke, the Brindled Women tried to follow Aegon, at first. A stranger to the woods with genetically worse eyesight, he implored his accomplices to take the lead. The gesture surprised the women, though they happily obliged. There were things he would take the lead on. Killing mostly. He had the experience and the steel, but that would not be until later. If he meant to truly earn these people's freedom, victory, he'd have to empower them as much as lead. These were their lives, their lands, their loved ones. It was their fight. He had only pledged his sword. And life, if need be.

Nahknani's jog was his sprint, as he and Lem followed closely behind her, trying to match her strides through the thickening brush. They ran. Her girls swung. The blood in his veins pumped faster, tension rising, building, anticipating the impending bloodshed. As they neared, he tried to think of a plan, but he was still high off the previous victory, and becoming increasingly more drunk in anticipation for another battle. To say he liked killing would be hyperbole. To say he hated it would be an absolute lie. It wasn't purely the bloodshed that excited him as much as the righteousness in which he would strike his foes down. He felt those they opposed should die. _Needed to._ There was nothing worse, in his mind, than rapers and slavers. This night at least, he was given the opportunity to slay both. He grinned as he ran.

The night was long. They raced and ran through the pitch black for hours with nothing but the moon and the light bugs to illuminate their way. Blind progress over the treacherous terrain had become easier for Aegon with so much recent practice. It almost felt natural to be in the darkness now.

During the trip, he heard large animals rustle as they passed, but none seemingly had the will or courage to stop their progress. Vihktoona fell once, mistaking a vine for an enormous snake, but both the animal and warrior continued on, though Vihktoona stayed on the ground with Nahknani and Aegon the rest of the way. Three times different women called for a halt to catch their breath, as they were not used to this type of exertion. Aegon was glad for each rest, but within a few minutes, a couple sips of water Nahknani assured him would be fine, and Lem waddling away to relieve himself, they would set back off into the wood briskly and with deadly purpose.

Nahknani slowed to a halt when they were about a half mile away from their target. Ootrihk informed the group of the slaver's location. They had anchored their big bellied galleys a quarter league offshore just west of Zamettar, for no one dared to anchor in the ancient ruined city, but the shoreline was just right for their temporary encampment. There were cliffs above the camp creating a natural barrier from the wildlife, but those same cliffs were the perfect cover from above for an ambush, especially from archers, which these women were.

Though time was important, so was caution. If the nine of them approached a full camp of armed men and were spotted, they'd expose the clan's betrayal or be forced to offer up Aegon as their prize to the slavers. Nahknani sent Neenee out ahead to scout the enemy first. Caution was the better course. Once Aegon knew their numbers and location, he could plan the best route for a stealthy attack, killing them in their sleep one by one.

The elder archer leapt into the woods, scaling a nearby tree and swinging silently into the dark. Her length appeared as an extension of the tree limbs as she swayed smoothly through the canopy. Her gray fur helped camouflage her to the trunks and branches and in a heartbeat she vanished.

"She will arrive within the hour with word of their position and strength." Nahknani said. "We should rest. It may be our last chance for a while." She turned to her girls most likely relaying the same message. Ooklunk plopped down immediately, reached behind her back for a horn. She removed a pelt plug from the opening and chugged down a foamy liquid, some dripping down her jowls to the ground below. She turned to Aegon and grunted, gesturing toward the horn. He took it. _Why not?_ And took a gulp. He swallowed it quickly, but the taste left in his pallet almost brought it right back up. His throat burned. He coughed, struggling to catch his breath. His gut gurgled. He asked, "What the hell was that?"

The girls were all laughing. Even Lem yelped. _Behold your Drahkness Kahn._ "That is the fermented breast milk from a new mother." Nahknani said, trying not to giggle herself. "Ooklunk is not fond of our berry wines, so she makes her own. How does it taste."

"I wouldn't recommend it," he replied, still coughing. "Give me water, anything. Please." He kept coughing, the sour taste in his mouth now much more disgusting knowing what he consumed.

The twins rustled through their pack and brought out their own horn, offering it to him in unison, their bright wide smiles reflecting the moonlight. He took the horn and sniffed it first, making sure he avoided the same joke twice. It smelled enough like wine, so he swilled it, then sipped it. He rinsed his pallet out before swallowing, clearing the taste from the milk, and gestured toward the twins to take their horn back.

"Thank you." He said. They smiled, giggled, and retreated back into the company of the other girls. In her haste to shoo the twins away, Nahknani had not introduced them.

After a few bites of food they had brought from their village, and the various drinks each consumed, Aegon and Nahknani found each other to plan what they could with the information they had.

Though they would not know their numbers or positioning until Neenee returned, they did know from Ootrihk a few of the specifics of their camp and plans. According to the conversation between JaHarle and Zlatan, in which Ootrihk was denigrated to little more than a cup bearer, the bulk of the slaver's fighting force had moved on toward another tribe, but enough were left behind to handle the movements of Ootrahk and his warriors. JaHarle employed the yellow flower, a plant the natives called the Sun's Last Kiss, to sedate their much larger foes rather than deal with their size and strength awake and alert. JaHarle and his clan learned to harvest the flowers' dust and dissolve it in drinks to make a dreaming potion. So there would be more slaves than slavers, most like, and they wouldn't be as alert guarding the sleeping beasts.

Ootrihk believed, though he explained he had never heard it said plainly, that the slavers would be ferrying their Brindled captives from the shore to the galleys, which were outfitted with shackles and cages to hold slaves as cargo, where, once fettered, they would be left aboard until they departed for New Ghis. If this was true, only a few captives at a time could be ferried, so many of the men would still be ashore, and those aboard the boats would not be sedated.

Their plan had to account for rescuing those ashore and aboard the ships, if there were any. For those ashore, Nahknani knew the antidote for the Sun's Last Kiss. It was a plant which reversed the effects and woke up any under the potions effects. There were side effects, however, and the jolt from the antidote usually sent men into rabid fits of rage, though very briefly. Aegon wasn't sure if that would be useful or harmful to their cause.

Once the slavers ashore were dealt with and the captives awakened, they would sneak onto the boat or boats to free the rest, hopefully with a larger fighting force than the nine that would shortly arrive. The specifics of the plan depended on what Neenee returned to say, but as they waited, Aegon and Nahknani tried to organize what they could with what they already knew.

Aegon would take the lead on the ground, descending from the cliffs and working his way around to the camp to attack with stealth and close quarters. If there were too many or they were alert and too close to each other, Nahknani would send the twins with him. Her reasons for nominating them were their ability to skulk and their experiences hunting on and under the ground had honed their skills, claiming all their kills with their bare paws. In close quarters, her archers would be of little use, and although Neenee was as capable if not more, her large size and length would be easily spotted. Aegon couldn't help but also consider Nahknani's eagerness to send the twins into danger stemmed from the attention they gave him, but she seemed less vindictive than that. _Right?_

Their plans as set as they could be without Neenee's report, they sat, waiting, trying to pass the anxious moments with whatever distraction they could. Nahknani reported to Vihktoona, Yunee, and Sheree as Ooklunk dozed into a drunken stupor, her mouth dribbling the rest of the fermented breast milk and snoring. Aegon sat in a small clearing honing the edges of his dirk. The sharper his weapon, the easier his kills, and with every stroke from the flint rock, he felt closer to the impending bloodshed. His heart fluttered in anticipation.

With Nahknani further off behind him, the twins snuck from the hidden brush and plopped down in front of him, sitting crosslegged with their arms folded on their laps. Each girl smiled at him as he looked up quickly, then continued to sharpen the blade.

They spoke to him in their native tongue, softly, as if lacking confidence, then giggled to themselves. He ignored their first attempt. With their second attempt, they tried to speak Valyrian. The tongue was hard to annunciate for him, and proved no easier for the twins. He understood more from their hand gestures than their attempts at the language, though their effort was commendable.

"I live Trihknee. Here lives Trihknah. We fire for drahkness kahn. You take then fight. We fire and hot." The one said, pointing to her sister when she mentioned 'Trihknah' and touching her chest and thighs mentioning the rest. Her sister matched her motions, though her mouth stayed silent and smiling.

 _Again?_ he thought, _but now there's two._ He thought of Lem, the man, and what lewd humor would result from this if he were here to goad him. Lem would more than likely fuck Nahknani if given the opportunity, but as sure as Aegon was about anything, Lem would have fucked the twins. He would have done it right there and then. Then, the next morning, he would boast in detail all his exploits and orgasms loud enough for anyone to hear with the pride of a conquering king. Aegon missed Lem. Even in the moments when he was reminded of how despicable Lem could truly be.

Aegon tried to ignore the twins as respectfully as possible, until they built up the courage to approach him. They crawled, sultry on all fours, their faces plain with lust. Aegon had been approached by attackers before, but had never been so unsure of how to defend against them. He thought to call out to Nahknani, but before he could, a rustle from the trees erupted with the long legs of Neenee, as she leapt down from the canopy.

She reported to Nahknani in their tongue, deliberately and intensely, her eyes focused and sober, and hard to read. She was either determined in her mission, excited at the prospect of the impending murder, or fearfully alert and nervous. In the dark, that was all he could tell before hearing Nahknani translate.

Ootrihk had the right of most of it. There were men camped at the shore, boats anchored in the water, rowboats ferrying sedated slaves, and Brindled captives aboard the ship, but he had failed to mention the rest. More boats seemed to be arriving with more slavers. Neenee counted as many as one hundred in the camp in total, though the small group designated for the Brindled Warriors was no more than ten.

The new camp was far enough down shore from the other, but she feared if one of the slavers sounded a horn for alarm, the remaining force was much too large to even run from, much less defeat. And if they were to free the warriors, they would have to board the ship off shore, for most of the captives had already been ferried.

"How many of our men are still ashore?" Aegon asked Nahknani.

"She says at least three, though there may be more she couldn't see," she replied.

"If we wake them with your plant, they will be in a rage and most like unable to remain hidden and silent. They will alert the remaining slavers and we'll be done for," he said.

"If we make for the boat, we will be safely away from their forces and can sail away before the dawn." She said.

"What about the remaining men ashore? We leave them?" he asked.

"If they wake, everyone dies. They would understand their sacrifice," she said, almost coldly.

"But what if we can save everyone? Here's what we are going to do."

They split up and approached the camp, still safely under the cover of thick darkness. The dawn would soon be upon them, but the sun had still yet to peak from beyond the horizon and the night was still as dark as it had ever been.

Nahknani led her group to the cliffs, where they could cover the ground attack with their bows, as Aegon and the twins scurried down to ground level where the slavers' tents were arranged just off the edge of the beach. Lem stayed put listening to Nahknani's commands. Not Aegon's.

The twins followed closely behind, their faces stern with focus, a welcome relief from the horny play he feared they'd employ now alone with him. They stalked through tall thin grass, the twins lower to the ground than he thought possible, slithering through the terrain like legged furry snakes. They were armed with nothing but their strong calloused paws, which were the only things about them beastly, but Nahknani assured him they could be deadly if needed.

As they approached the tents, five in total, he hoped the girls understood what was to happen next. Before departing their separate ways, Nahknani informed the twins of Aegon's plan and their part in it. They would attack each tent together, two inside and one outside to stand watch. If one of the tents stirred, or a slaver was walking outside, the watcher would sound a bird call. It might not matter, but if things went awry, he needed a better course than to just start hacking. Sure, he could fight the slavers head on and win, but if one had enough time to alert the reinforcements just down the beach, Aegon and the girls would all be dead.

He slipped into the first tent without hesitation. Time was now of the essence and hesitation would only cause harm to their plan. Trihknah followed silently behind, he deadly paws gently leading her inside as Trihknee, the more vocal of the two stayed outside to keep watch. Aegon unsheathed his dirk, then assumed his position next to a sleeping slaver as Trihknah assumed hers, her hands her weapons, drawn and ready. He looked to her, nodded, then they slayed their victims, Aegon stabbing his through his throat, Trihknah twisting her victim's head almost clean off. _One down. Four to go._

They snuck into the next one and repeated the bloody business. They picked their victim, assumed position, then killed them in unison and silence. Entering the next tent, Trihknee whispered to Trihknah and quickly scuffled with her sister. He assumed she wanted a turn in the tent, so with a fiery look and a tap with the dirk on his chest, he silenced the bickering and continued inside. He was pretty sure Trihknee followed, but they were twins and it was dark.

He entered and approached his victim. The twin followed suit, but didn't wait for a nod. Instead, she crawled on top of the slaver, held his mouth and bit into his throat. She shook her head from side to side, as Aegon quickly slid the dirk into his victim who stirred to the sound. The twin ripped the man's throat from his neck, spit it out, and moaned softly. She said something to the dead man in her language as his body expelled a soft murmur, his last breath, then wiped the blood from her mouth.

He shot her another look, in which she replied with a coy look of her own, then licked her lips and batted her eyelashes. _This must be a form of flirting to them. Thankfully I'll never learn how they actually fornicate._

They slipped out of the tent with only two left. He quickly entered the next tent, the light from the sun softly emanating, though the sun itself had yet to peak out from the horizon. The dawn was quickly approaching and he hoped to be finished with the shore before the morning was fully upon them.

One of the twins, he did not know which, followed him in, and he quickly dispatched one victim, then turned and opened the other's throat. When he turned to exit, the twin who bit, presumably Trihknee, looked at him with coy disappointment. She said something to him in her tongue, then pouted. He assumed it was something like, "He was mine," but it could have been anything. He had no time for it. He ignored her, and moved toward the opening of the tent.

 _Coo Roo. Coo Roo._ That was the bird call. Something was wrong. Trihknee heard it and at once, stood and exited the tent. He tried to grab her arm to pull her back, but she was out before his reach could grasp her. _Fuck_ he thought. _We're all dead._

He heard talking from outside the tent, as one of the slavers must have woken to piss or heard the noises.

"What are you doing here?" Aegon heard the voice say in Ghiscari.

"I am not speaking this speak," one of the twins said in Valyrian. _I wonder who she learned that from._

The slaver replied in Valyrian, "What are you doing here?" There was no anger in his voice, yet. Just confusion.

"Would you like to see? Your friend was more than happy to see what we do," one of the twins replied. "I don't know to speak, but I can do _other_ things. Better things. Come. See." Aegon could see the two silhouettes of the twins through the canvass of the tent. One touched the other as both seemed to be undressing the other. Wrapped in vines like the rest of their people, they pulled them off and whipped them down before turning to enter the tent Aegon was still hiding in. "You have more friend? Bring him. Quickly. There's little time." The slaver turned and stepping into his tent, and exited shortly thereafter with another shadow. _Apparently Lem isn't the only man to want to fuck these women._

They entered the tent, naked, their full breasts swaying as they bent down to enter. When they entered, they smirked at Aegon, who stood ready to attack the horny slavers once inside.

The twins moved toward the dead bodies in the tent, which was dark enough to hide their murders and Aegon as he hid to the side of the entrance. He allowed both slavers to enter fully, their eyes fixed on the nude Brindled Women who were now lying on their backs, twisting their legs open and closed, exposing and covering their pussies in seductive twirls. Aegon stabbed them as they were trying to unsheathe their cocks from their underclothes, and they fell bleeding onto the naked twins.

"Take us now," one of the twins said, covered in the blood from both dead men, her legs spread fully, the pink lips of her vulva glistening wet and hairless. He didn't look, but still noticed, as he felt his manhood twinge and begin to stiffen. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, then shook his head no to the twins and exited the tent before his body could argue with him further.

_Nahknani would kill you. She'd kill me. Plus I have no desire to lay with a Brindle Woman. Or two._

He brushed the bulge in his pants down and signaled to the women hiding in the cliffs above. The first part of their mission was complete and needed the rest of their strength for the next stage.

As the women from the cliffs climbed down, the twins re-wrapped their vines around their bodies. As the girls gathered the sedated Brindled Men and loaded them into the row boats, Aegon retrieved the ten short swords from their victims and changed into the garb of one of the slain slavers. Most were covered in blood, save the first man whose neck Trihknah snapped, so he donned his attire and met back up with the women.

They all huddled in to the row boat and set off toward the galley. Within their vessel were the nine of them and three of the warriors. Sheree, Vihktoona, and Yunee searched the warriors' faces, seemingly looking for loved ones. None were theirs. Their own faces returned to the scowls they had worn since he'd met them. They all huddled into the boat and feigned sedation themselves, hoping to blend in with the warriors, as Aegon posed as a slaver delivering cargo.

He rowed to the boat as a furry paw caressed the bottom of his calf, gently. It was one of the twins, lying in character like the rest, with one eye open, smirking at him. He shook his leg away, to which Nahknani noticed, and the twin returned to her fake sedation. _These women are insatiable._

The sea was choppy. It hadn't occurred to him that they would have never been aboard a boat before, and soon, Ooklunk became seasick. _Too much breast milk, eh?_ She turned to wretch off the side of the boat to the groans and muttering of the rest of the girls, but after a few heaves, she wiped her mouth and said, "Ahtch ka. Gooz." He had no idea what it meant, but she slinked back down into her own fake sedation. He hoped no one saw.

As he continued to row, he felt naked, vulnerable on the water. Their boat was a sitting duck, alone and undefended, and if either the boat they approached, or the larger force ashore noticed their coming or their attack, there was nothing they could do but die. Their only advantage was the still rising sun glaring viscously off the top of the water, and the rowboat was probably difficult to see from either the galley or the shore. He hoped it was anyway.

When the boat made its final approach, a slaver stood awaiting his arrival. He knew enough Ghiscari to have a quick back and forth with the man before springing into action, but he was afraid the man would ask questions before the boat was close enough to attack.

He shouted something from afar Aegon heard, but could not understand.

"What," he replied, pretending not to hear him. The man repeated his question. "What," Aegon said again. It continued until the row boat touched the stern of the ship. The slaver leaned down, throwing Aegon a rope. Aegon climbed it, the slaver asking one more time, his face groggy, his eyes glossy, and his overall demeanor confused to see one man ferrying over so many captives.

"What," he said one more time, climbing aboard and cutting the slaver's throat. The confused look on the man's face only deepened as his blood spilled onto the deck of the ship.

Aegon whispered down to the girls, "I'll clear the deck and be right back."

Dressed as an ally, he approached the few remaining slavers on the ship, each positioned at different posts alone still tired or sleeping, quickly killing them, catching their limp bodies, and softly placing them down to avoid the crash of their body on the deck. He killed four more and he returned to the row boat, tossing down more ropes to secure the smaller vessel and provide a way to climb aboard. Nahknani was the last to board, applying her antidote to the sedated warriors before she left the rowboat for the galley.

As the warriors began to stir, he and the girls stole down into the belly of the boat to finish off the remaining crew and free the Brindled Men.

They seemed to be all there, fettered and in cages meant for animals. Vihktoona, Yunee, and Sheree ran from cage to cage, searching for their loved one. Each found him. Vihktoona found her son. Yunee her husband. And Sheree found a man she said was her brother.

Nahknani found Ootrahk.

"Pleasure to see you again, pink man. Missed me so much you had to visit, huh?" He said, his face scarred with deep cuts and plastered with a huge smile.

"After the last time we met, how could I stay away?"


	28. Chapter 28

28

When all of the Brindled Men were freed from their fetters and cages, the rescue party set off to find any remaining crew that had yet to wake. Aegon supplied warriors and Ooklunk, who hated bows, with fourteen steel short swords from the hands of the dead slavers. He would have taken one for himself, but he was getting used to the dirk and had specifically been trained for a longsword and great sword, not a short sword. The practical application of which would mostly be the same, but it gave him a good enough excuse to pass on one for himself.

A quick search through the cabins and captain's quarters found the boat mostly abandoned, save four more guards that would have taken the next shift. Aegon didn't expect the ship to be fully crewed, but he expected more than eight. _Where are the rest of them?_

They killed all the guards in their sleep, none like the twins did on the shore, but they killed them all the same. Four new blades were passed around. Someone found an arahk, which Ootrahk was happy to take for himself. After a quick search of the rest of the ship no other guards or slavers were found.

When Aegon came upon the captain's quarters he found the only survivor. A man was sitting on a desk, his legs crossed and his arms folded in front of him. _Has he been waiting for me?_ Upon Aegon's entrance, he raised his hands, signaling surrender, and sat silently, staring eerily past Aegon into the distance.

He wore a silk white tunic and flowing white breeches, bare feet, and jingling necklace of bells. His face was tattooed with the motley customary for slave fools in Volantis. His expression was stuck half way between a smile and an itch. His mouth was stretched across his face, baring his teeth, but the lips never curved, his cheeks never tightened. He just stared past Aegon, stuck in a frozen expression of madness, silently.

Aegon stepped into the chambers declaring, "We have taken this ship. The men aboard are all dead. I came to speak with the captain. Who are you?"

He sat there silently for a moment, then turned his head slowly past Aegon, then back again to him. His eyes still looked past him. _Through_ him. He jerked his head, half cocking it to the side and replied, "I'm just seamen. I'm what men leave behind after fun. Fun, fun, fun, fun, fun. Oh, we had such fun. But I'm afraid my fun is done. Just a stain, is all." He turned, climbing down from the desk and behind it. He reached down under it, out of Aegon's view for a moment, and stood up with what looked like a paper ball, tied with a red bow. "For you, ser. A gift." He reached out as if to hand it to Aegon.

 _Something's wrong here._ Aegon reached for his dirk and lunged to end the conversation. The fool straightened his face and posture that instant, and as quick as any man Aegon had ever fought, threw the gift to the ground. The ball exploded into a thick white cloud. Aegon swiped through with the dirk, sparring the air, spinning around the room, hitting nothing. He waved the cloud clear and there was no one in the room with him. _Fooled by a fool._

He ran out of the room yelling, "One is loose on the ship! One is loose!" He turned down a small hall and burst out onto the deck. He looked up to see the fool in white in the crow's nest, leaning over the one side. Aegon yelled, "Someone put him down!" He turned back and saw Neenee, bow already cocked, about to loose a smooth shafted wooden arrow she whittled from a branch herself. There was no ore in their part of this land, so their arrows were smooth wooden shafts with no head that could fly straight through prey or a foe.

She loosed. It flew straight for his temple, but the fool caught it with his left hand. He squeezed the arrow. Blood trickled down. "I do create joy, you know. The purest form of joy. But mostly I'm wasted. Wiped and shot into places and things. No matter though. Nothing more than a stain." With his free hand, he lifted a brass horn, curved whimsically around in a spiral. He brought it to his lips, pursed them, then glanced down at Aegon with the corner of his eye. _It's as if he's daring me to kill him._

"Neenee! Kill him!" Aegon screamed. The horn meant death. It would alert the forces encamped down the shore from them and as far as Aegon could figure, this seemed like a set up. A fool in the captain's chambers? Only nine on the boat, ten on the shore to guard scores of Brindled Men? Something wasn't right. Someone needed to take him down.

NeeNee rushed to her quill for another arrow, knocking it and pulling it back, racing to kill the fool before he managed another breath. They raced. The fool won.

_Huuurooooooooooooooooo- uh_

The arrow hit just below his ear and stopped the sound suddenly. Aegon hoped she stopped him quickly enough. He didn't fall though. The fool just stood there, frozen again. The arrow pierced through his neck, sticking out, the point hidden somewhere inside his skull. He coughed, spitting blood onto the brass horn and all over his tunic and pants. "Just . . . a.. . . (cough cough) stain, … . is all," he sucked in more air, his body and face swelling like a blowfish.

"Again and again! Down this fool!" Vihktoona and Sheree had their bows drawn too now. Two of the men also grabbed bows and arrows and aimed to fire, all of them reaching to their quills as his lips pressed against the horn.

 _Huuroooooooo Huurooooooooooo – uh._ Neenee's hit first. But it barely stopped him. _Huurooooo Huuuroooo-uh oooo._ He took another breath. Arrows flew by him. Two found his chest, sticking out of him like a pin cushion. _Hurrrooooo-uh ooooooo Hurrooooooooo Hurooooooooo-uh._

Arrows flew and the horn sounded. Aegon had already begun to climb to the crow's nest, holding the dirk in his mouth as he scaled the ropes.

 _Huuurooo-uh huu-uh-roooooo._ Arrows continued to hit him to no avail. Neenee's aim was true, shooting arrows at his lungs and throat. But with impossibly quick reflexes and the horn as a shield, he blocked or deflected the arrows that came for his throat and was unaffected by the ones that hit him in his torso. The white clothes had turned all but pink and red. Arrows plunged into his skin, some stuck into bones, some flew clean through, but he still found the breath and strength to blow. By now, there was no hope the slavers didn't hear the alarm, and what was this indestructible fool doing on this boat anyway? _Who in seven hells is this man?_

Aegon reached the crow's nest and dodged the last round of arrows. One nearly clipped his side, but he managed to spin away from it, clutching the rope with a four fingered left hand. He pulled himself up over the side, planted his feet and plunged the dirk into the fool with a two-handed straight thrust. _Huroo-uh._ He turned to Aegon, blood flowing from his mouth, as Aegon pulled the dirk out and poised for another strike if need be. Once again, his mouth stretched across his face in that smile of a madman. He coughed at Aegon, spitting blood toward him, laughed or coughed again, and lifted the horn to his mouth. Aegon swung the dirk through the horn, the bell necklace, and his neck, and the fools head fell to the planks of the crow's nest floor below him jingling as it did. The pink garbed body, leaking blood, full of arrows, dropped to its knees, then fell flat on its stomach, arrows plunging deeper inside it and propping it up on an angle. Blood spurted out the hole in its neck where a head used to be.

Aegon saw the head roll past his feet and settle with its eyes closed facing him. Its mouth, covered in blood, was still stretched in that queer almost grin. His eyes popped open, almost jolting the severed head. "Just a stain is all," and his eyes closed and mouth dropped. _Fucking seamen._

Aegon descended from the crow's nest, trying to glimpse movement from the slaver's camp. He saw and heard commotion, scores of soldiers scurrying about the shore, seemingly into formation. _Fuck._

He called to those who spoke Valyrian, Nahknani, Ootrahk, and two of his warriors he never met, and had them assemble the men and women on deck. He needed them to translate and delegate, as the ship needed to be ready to sail.

They pulled up the anchor, checked the lines, manned the rudder, and hoisted the sails quickly enough for the Valyrian speaking captain to take pride in his new crew. The deck bustled with Brindled Men and Women, much more capable of climbing, pulling, and steering than any crew he had ever had charge of, though the language barrier was less than helpful. It wasn't the first time some of his crew needed translation, but it was the first time pretty much all of them did. Ootrahk, Nahknani, and the two warriors excelled with this initial test, but if a battle at sea were to take place, as he knew would soon be the case, he'd have to not only fight, but order the novice crew what to do with the ship. That would be the true challenge.

Once they were off, they needed to chart a course. _Where do we go now? How do we lose these slavers?_

As Aegon thought long and hard on those questions, no answer was evident. He didn't know the coast, he didn't know the wind patterns, he could only guess to where Ootrihk and the rest of their clan was, and he needed to get the fighting force back to defend their women and children. Further, if he attempted what he was considering, which was brazen bordering on suicidal, no one else knew how to sail the ship. _Indeed, this was a well made trap. Fucking seamen._

He searched the shore to see the slavers' progress. They had every man he could see marching, boarding boats to meet them. The entire camp seemed to have mobilized. _Could they all be sailing to meet us? Where else would they be going?_

The galley was big, built for cargo, not speed. It crawled across the water like a basilisk in winter, so slowly they had no hope to out run the faster longships and clippers of the slavers. And as big as it was, there was no hope for turning into a cove or bay to hide. They would have to take them head on, somehow, and he thought he knew of a way. A slight chance, but who would sail the ship?

As the slavers continued to make progress on leaving the shore, he took Ootrahk and his two Valyrian speaking warriors to the side to teach them the basics of sailing. The lines for the sails, the rudder, the starboard, the leeward, the wind, the stars. He gave them as much pertinent information as quickly as possible, knowing most of it would be lost either in translation, or lost in the sheer volume he was trying to present. It had taken him half, if not all of his life to know enough to be a captain. These Brindled Men would have twenty minutes at most.

 _At least they can steer. The wind will blow them all over the ocean, but they can at least steer the rudder._ That much he was sure, and would serve them if he succeeded. If he failed it would make no matter at all. He just hoped he could even complete the first part of his plan.

Next, he gathered all the archers. Nahknani was there to translate for him as he explained his plan. Hopefully only one of the ships would be on them at a time, and the key was for the ships to keep their distance. If the slavers were able to board, their numbers, steel, and experience would most likely overwhelm his new crew. Even if they were able to thwart off one of the ships, others would follow, with more numbers, and eventually all would be lost either to steel or the sea.

But as every dragon knows, boats are nothing but wood and paper. Cloth and kindling. All they needed was a little bit of fire.

The arrows of a Brindled Person, as mentioned before, were just whittled wood, without an iron or steel head, and rarely fletched with feathers. The sharp smooth pointed sticks flew straight enough on land, but Aegon feared they would not fly over the sea, the gusts from the crashing waves and tides might either stop them or push them off course. They also would be hard to ignite without some accelerant, which made his plan seem impossible. But going through the stores, there was enough food, specifically swine fat, that could be used to light the arrows, were they to stay lit and fly straight. He just needed to convince his crew that their best chance at survival was turning the boat around and sailing directly to their enemy. _I'm sure these land lovers will love me for this._

He spied the slavers. Only one of the ships looked like it was making its way to them. _They must be overly confident._ True his boat was full of novice sailors and women, but they were Brindled Men. They _could_ win in a battle, steel or not, aboard a ship if the slavers' commander sent green enough warriors, or slave warriors for that matter. But Aegon wouldn't let it come to that.

He called his new crew together again, addressing them from the crow's nest, wind blowing and whipping through his hair. His brown locks flowed, circling his face as he tried to yell over the howling of the gusts. Though most knew not what he said, they stood intently listening to every Valyrian word, and its translation in their language.

He ended his explanation with, "All that I do, I do for the safety and survival of your people. I will take them head on myself. All I ask is your trust. Know that we will win, and we will. Know that we are just, and we are. Know that we have just begun to kill and we will continue to slaughter our enemies until the sea runs red with their blood. These men mean to enslave you. Use you. Kill you after years of hard service and torture. We win the day not only because of the strength in our arms, but the strength in our hearts. We win today. Then we win tomorrow, and forever more, YOU will be the heroes children hear about in the stories. Fuck a Drahkness Kahn. Make me a Brindled Man!"

Ootrahk translated with the fervor to match his Valyrian. Aegon even saw his carnivorous smile stretch across his face as he yelled the last two sentences in his native tongue. The crowd was mostly the freed warriors, who most likely didn't understand the Drahkness Kahn reference from the previous night, but they roared anyway. The cries, chants, and cheers rang loud enough The King and his villainous Queen could hear across the Narrow Sea. Despite the ending of his speech, the women among them started in the chant from the previous night. The deck was covered with larger, stronger, fiercer men and women than he, merely a purple eyed pink man, but a rush flowed from toes to the top of his head as the natives to this deadly place sounded in that familiar chorus.

 _"Drahkness Kahn. Drahkness Kahn. Drakness Kahn."_ Harwin Snow lived to suppress his heritage. He forgot it, forced the truth he knew deep in his mind as all those around him save the Captain called him The Bastard's Bastard. Har of the Harbour. His father was a hero. A dragon rider. A Prince of Dragonstone taken too early. His grandmother was the realm's delight. The true Queen of Westeros. Now, fittingly aboard a stolen trading galley, the man who washed up on the shores of a foreign land having just lost everything was finally acknowledged as the man he always knew he was. Aegon Velaryon. Dragon King.

He settled down the crowd, waving his arms downward as to quiet the chanting hoard. "Now, go to where you're needed and we'll show these vermin why Sothoryos is no place for the weak." His translators relayed the messages and the crowd shuffled into their positions.

Aegon climbed to the crow's nest as the boat was spun around, headed back toward the shore, and the gaining slaver's longship. He instructed the men who would steer to aim far enough starboard to be in their own archer's range, but out of ramming range of their foe. The galley was bigger, but it was broad, and clumsy. A longship, breaching at the right angle, could sink them in minutes if it were to break through into the belly of the vessel. Its large cargo holds would fill with water and drag them down. Too recently he'd been a witness to a sinking boat. A boat he was responsible for. It would not happen again.

As he climbed, he judged the distances he'd need to know if he were to pull this off. He eyed the ropes, the mast, the sails. He measured the approaching ship, closing one eye and judging with his right hand held thumb and pointer finger extended, then called down to his navigators to correct their course. When he reached the highest he could climb, he closed his eyes. He thought of what to do now. _What do I say? And to who?_ He closed his eyes to say a prayer, out of habit. But like the last prayer he muttered, he wasn't sure whom to address. Should he envoke the Seven of Westeros. In White Harbor, people kept the sothron gods, but he never had. He'd say things like, "Seven hells," but not from a place of faithfulness. He could make his overture to the Red god R'hllor, but if anything, he was a perversion of the Valyrian fire gods, and the woman he fell for's lover. He could pray to Great Chahka, as the Brindled people had mentioned in passing, but he didn't even know anything of him. Or her. He could pray to the old gods, the gods he had always prayed to, but would they have any power so far from the heart trees of Westeros? Like he had on his first day here, his thoughts turned to himself. He said no prayers. He just took in a deep breath and reflected on his journey thus far. _It does not end here._

The ships jockeyed for position as they approached each other on a calm Summer Sea. It was mid morning. The sun glared off the crystal water with a mean burn. The flash almost knocked Aegon off the mast as he clutched it, a pink monkey on a hempen vine. The sea chopped, the small waves near the shore rolling hills of dark blue. If he were to die, he would want it to be on the ocean. The time had come. The ships were in position. He looked to NeeNee, the captain in charge of the archers. He nodded. _Here we go._


	29. Chapter 29

29

She nodded back. Her row of archers dipped the fat coated arrows in the open flame coming from the brazier that was brought to the deck. They quickly knocked the arrows and pulled them back. She screamed in her language, "Tahk nah!" and the sky filled with flying fire.

Many of the arrows failed to even reach their foe. As for the ones that did, many fizzed out and were extinguished in the air or upon impact. Aegon commanded NeeNee to aim for the sails. Hers found one of them. The cloth caught fire and began to spread. Their archers repeated the attack three more times, each round of arrows causing a bit more of their attackers' boat to catch fire, before they were in range for the next step to his plan. The most crucial part.

Aegon took a deep breath in, then nodded to Ootrahk's man at the base of the mast. The warrior then followed orders, cutting a non-essential rope, freeing it to swing. The foes ship was far enough away to avoid them potentially boarding still, but it was now close enough for Aegon to attempt his swing onto it.

He gripped the rope and walked back on one of the cross beams of the mast, standing high above the much shorter long ship. He darted forward, gaining momentum, squeezed the rope as hard as he could and launched himself into the air. For seconds, he flew, a true dragon, circling the mast, gaining momentum and distance as he gently slid down the rope, his weight carrying the rope further as his body sped up in the air.

The long ship below was burning, the main sail all but engulfed, the deck and lesser sails starting to catch as well. The crew aboard the ship scurried in panic, as some archers, most likely the more experienced among them, gathered in formation to return fire.

As he swung in the air, NeeNee's archers let another round of flaming arrows go, but NeeNee fired something else. The momentum of the swinging rope propelled him through the air, and just as the rope had reached its apex and was about to swing back, he reached for another rope. That rope was attached to the hooked arrow NeeNee shot around one of the crossbeams of the mast. She fired it while others behind her waited ready to catch the long line, holding it taught for Aegon to catch in mid-air. The hooked arrow reached the beam, wrapped around, and caught, anchoring for another swing. He released the first rope to swing on the other, now careening to the burning ship with even more momentum. In a heartbeat, he was over the boat, the rope twisted around the mast, and he dropped down to the burning deck with a roll.

As he landed, so too did the arrows from NeeNee's archers, the last round they would send. The deck vibrated as they hit it, and he heard a few thuds and muted yelps mixed in with the chaos all around, as he rolled to his feet. The familiar orange glow from the flames swirled in with the light from the sun, and the blinding glare off the water. The blaze from the sail above him crackled, spreading quickly to the wood all around him, and them.

He was aboard the boat, covered in enemies darting in all directions in the mad scramble to put out the flames they could. Ghiscari was shouted in every direction, some orders, more panic, and as he readied himself, the dirk in his hand, most of the men on board barely noticed his dramatic arrival. The two immediately in front of him did however.

The first charged him with a spear. Aegon darted left of it, with a circular parry to its bronze tip. Then he stepped straight toward his foe, sank to his knee, and exploded upward into the thin leather tunic of his attacker's midsection in one motion. With the next, he pulled the dirk out, shoved the dying slaver into the next's spear. The impaled foe coughed out a grunt of agony as the spear sank into him. Aegon spun around the dead man's back and swung clean threw the second attacker's neck with the dirk. It didn't cut his head clean off, but the blade bit deep enough for his head to collapse into his neck and dangle before he fell with his spear skewered through the first. A piece of burning timber fell just in front of him as he stepped away from the first two. It sent the rest of the surrounding slavers that hadn't yet noticed him into another panic, running away from more and more burning wood that continually dropped from the engulfed mast and sail, seemingly cutting them off from Aegon. The men who were putting out the fires abandoned their attempts. Some jumped overboard so close to shore. More, seemingly following the orders of a booming voice through the haze, were hurriedly forming into a formation toward the bow of the boat. All this happened within an instant of his landing. The killing. The timber. The yelling. Time all around him sped up to a breakneck pace. Yet, the growing flames seemed to slow down time for him.

More were around who had yet to fully notice. Three turned their heads from the now fleeing ship of Brindled Men long enough to see their killer strike, but not quickly enough to stop him. Cutting through and moving, Aegon was now at the starboard stern of the deck. Now he'd work his way back up the starboard rail to the front, killing them all if he had to. A group of three men noticed the killings, and reacted in kind, stepping to Aegon, their long swords drawn, still stupidly staggering the timing of their attacks. The first, as always, came with a right over hand swing. Aegon caught the swords blade with the dirk, grabbed his wrist with his left hand, jumped, wrapping his legs around the right arm, crossed his feet, holding the limb firmly between them locked at the elbow. Aegon fell, spinning the arm bones till they snapped, as the man fell to the ground, and Aegon gained a longsword. With two more coming he rolled on the ground away from a swing from the second attacker to the ground were he and the first slaver fell. The slash caught his own compatriot, lodging itself in the broken arm's shoulder long enough for Aegon to bounce to his feet and throw the dirk into his neck. He gripped the longsword with both hands and parried the third attackers thrust, then another, then a backhand swipe. A forehand swipe. _He's quick._

He back stepped with every parry, losing ground toward the back rail of the boat. Another thrust from his attacker was pushed away, then Aegon launched a left kick to his attacker's side. He winced. Aegon launched a fore hand swing, switching his feet and striking down hard. It was blocked. Aegon followed by sliding the sword deftly down the blade, steel screeching as it slid and thrust toward his attacker's face. The attacker bobbed his head away, but the edge of the sword still sliced through skin, a red line opened beneath his foe's left eye.

He spit at Aegon, and shoved him back with both hands. Aegon stumbled back, then bounced even further back to avoid the slash from his attacker. His swing was so strong, he fell off balance, just long enough for Aegon to step in with a thrust of the sword. It found his chest and slid into him, but the man fought back with a back handed swipe of the sword. Aegon abandoned his sword and fell back to his left, avoiding the sword, but the man, sword still stuck inside, stumbled on top of him, off balance from the last effort leaving his body, and crashed into him on the ground. His grip on his own sword failed as he tried to catch his falling body, but he climbed onto Aegon, pulling himself toward him and grabbed Aegon by the neck, his weight on top of the Valyrian. Blood dripped down the slaver's mouth, as Aegon reached to remove his squeezing hands, his breath escaping him. But Aegon was a sailor, and he could hold his breath. Long enough at least to reach for the sword still sticking out from his foe and slide it out. His attacker's grip around his throat compromised as he did, and Aegon stick it back in, further up, into his armpit, with as much of a thrust as he could lying down. It was enough to stop him and he collapsed. Aegon pushed the body off of him, and got back to his feet.

The scene had worsened, for the slavers anyway. Now most of the deck was roaring and most of the crew was jumping over board. He couldn't see very far to the bow, much of his view blocked from tall flames licking into the sky. With seemingly no one in front of him, he made his way up the starboard rail, only slightly impeded by the falling wood and the bodies of the kills he had just claimed. He stopped to recover the dirk, but paused for nothing else.

Flares of the fire soothed his skin. Beads of sweat sizzled, but the heat had more of a calming effect. He trudged through the gore, his world in slow motion, his head drunk in a blood lust, looking for his next opponent. He hadn't slept in over a day, but he had energy, or enough to finish, and the rush in his body made him feel he _needed to kill._

The mast had burnt down like the wick of an enormous candle that had been burning for two days too long. With a heart wrenching crack and a blood curdling roar, it collapsed on itself, falling to boulder sized cinders spreading the blaze even more. By now the sun was blocked out by the clouds of smoke and the orange waves of the heat rippling the air around him. A shard the size of an ox cart from the mast careened down toward him. He ran toward the bow and dove out of the way of the burning lumber into a roaring flame spreading onto the rail. He landed in a pile of ash, his skin cool, his leather slaver's garb melting to his skin. His hair began to burn as well, though he couldn't feel the heat. He gathered himself and rose again to his feet and began to look through the flames.

He saw a group of archers lined in formation, firing arrows at will over the port railing. They were all on a raised deck above him and toward the port side. It was hard to see through the pulsing haze, but he thought he saw one man on a raised platform shouting orders; the voice he had heard before.

Aegon stepped out of the flames and his view became clearer. None of the remaining twenty were any the wiser to his presence, but they were all together in formation, with a commander to take away the hesitation of thought. He couldn't fight them all at once, and worse, the fucking Brindled navigator failed to get their boat far enough away after he swung aboard. They were supposed to be away by now, but the wind was fighting their course, it seemed, and inexperienced as he was, he didn't know how to adjust. The boat looked like it had lingered in the same place since he jumped. If it was to going be this close anyway, his entrance, though no less glorious, was pointless now. In fact, from what he could see, the Ghiscari were successfully reaching the boat with each arrow. Aegon hoped the losses weren't heavy, but for whatever reason, the flames left this part of the ship alone, and their commander intended to deal as heavy losses as he could before the boat sank. Aegon had to act, and quickly.

He looked around, hoping a solution would come to him. He scanned and thought. One did.

He approached the boulder sized chunk of burning wood from the mast collapse and sized it up. It was still burning, and wide. He'd have to hug it tightly to his chest to get enough leverage to even attempt lifting it, but as the flames swirled around him, he felt a confidence inside him he couldn't explain. He crouched, wrapped his arms around the burning boulder and lifted. He raised it up from his legs, arching his back as far back as he could, holding the immense weight against his chest. But the flames helped lighten the load. Not only was the chunk mostly burnt and almost ash, he felt a strength from the flames. An illogical strength coming from something unexplainable. The thing in his grasp was too big to lift. Too big for two men, ten even. But for whatever reason, Aegon was able to summon enough to get it in the air, and as his legs struggled with each step, he still found enough strength to march up to the platform. Covered by the haze and smoke, the slavers were still ignorant to his presence as he trudged closer and closer with the burning boulder of mast the weight of a horse against his chest.

One of the archers noticed as he let out a grunt at full volume, holding it longer for emphasis, and tossed the huge ball of flame and weight to the center of their formation. Only a few scattered, most of the slavers aiming and loosing their bows, crushed by the weight and burnt by the flames of the thick rolling fire log. The commander screamed and scurried away toward the bow, leaving only five or six of the archers totally unscathed.

He charged them with the longsword in his right and the dirk in his left. Three of the men were wide eyed in shock, staring blankly at the Valyrian as he charged, frozen in fear. Aegon's head was aflame, his hair all but burnt away. His body was pitch black, covered in ash and soot, the leather Ghiscari garb mostly melted or tattered away. The other three archers had more guts though, as they raced to their quills, knocked their arrows, and aimed for him. He anticipated their shots, and dove into a forward roll. The arrows flew over his head and he popped back up. He swung the longsword back and forth with little for the slavers to block with. One tried with his wooden bow, but drunk on blood and enhanced from the flames, Aegon crushed clean through the wooden weapon, and the slavers collarbone, ribs and flank. The following left-handed thrust from the dirk crunched through the next's sternum. He spun, bringing the longsword in circular backhand swing to the third archer who bounced back and away, crashing into the rail. Aegon stepped and kicked him straight to his chest, impacting hard and pushing the archer overboard. To his right, two of the remaining archers had already jumped, and one stood frozen, the burning boat around him and the burning man before him forcing a spreading puddle underneath his shivering knees and ankles, all but buckling in fear.

"Jump." Aegon grunted, his voice as deep and guttural as Ootrahk's, commanding the craven as much with his eyes as his voice. He obeyed as quickly as he could, dropping the bow and plunging into the sea with most of his brethren. The commander seemed the only one left. Aegon looked across to his crew's stolen ship. The men and women were gathered now to witness more of his victories, cheering at the edge of their boat as he raised both his hands in celebration. They quieted and then grew louder again, though now seemingly in a panic, frantically yelling something. Not chanting.

He heard it but didn't feel it. The air whistled to him, something ripping through it toward him. He looked down. An arrow hit just above his hip. He clutched it and yanked it out, flesh ripping from the wide tips of the arrow head, as his eyes found the commander. He scrambled the deck to find another arrow as Aegon bolted toward him. He was running away from the flames, and felt the enhanced strength leave his veins. He didn't need anything extra though. _I'm all I need to finish this one._

He sheathed his dirk, and drew his longsword, his hands and feet positioned properly, as if he were in a castle yard. "You have a sword. Raise it. I will kill you either way. Die brave enough to try and live."

The commander said nothing, crawling with the bow in his hands toward the starboard rail. The fire roared and crackled around Aegon as he crept toward the man on the ground. He retreated as far as he could away from Aegon and looked up at him whimpering. He spoke in Ghiscari saying something Aegon did not understand.

"Talk is done. Raise your sword or die on the ground," Aegon replied in Valyrian.

"It shouldn't be long now," the slaver replied in Valyrian.

Aegon reached him and swung the longsword through the upper half of his body. He managed to cut through an arm, but the blade bit deep into the slaver's rib cage and stopped, lodged in bone, muscle, and spine. Aegon dropped the sword, pulled the dirk and finished off his neck, opening it to spill on the floor. He turned away, back toward the flame, to heal the wound on his hip.

The deck was fully engulfed from where the mast had fell toward the stern, and the flames were only spreading further toward him. He stepped in the heat, the burn soothing on the wound. He found a burning splinter and brought it up to his hip, pushing the wound closed as it seemingly fused together and shrunk slowly smaller. It itched as it healed, so he applied hard pressure with the splinter. He wasn't sure if it helped speed up the process, but it relieved the building itch better than a scratch, so he did it anyway.

Suddenly, the back of the boat exploded with the loudest burst of sound he'd ever heard. Shards of wood spread violently apart like an apple breaking and spreading under a sledge hammer. Fire followed as more booms sounded in succession, their originating points growing closer to him with each one. The boat shot burning shards everywhere, as it crumbled and expanded all at once, all together with each booming burst. Aegon couldn't figure out what was happening, and in less than a heartbeat, the boom was close enough to send him airborne and flying into the ocean. A flash of heat and light bathed over him in an instant, then he was flying.

He saw some of the Brindle People who cheered him, die, and the boat he had taken command of catch fire. He landed flat on the water, smacking into the surface harder than a cobblestone street from a tall tower. His mind went black just after he hit.


	30. Chapter 30

30

Between flashes of memory or the scene of the explosion, Aegon slipped in and out of consciousness. He saw the bobbing ship, mostly gone, burning on the top of the water. Then black.

He felt the cool rush of the water rocking him at its surface. His head began to submerge, which jolted his body into a paddle for air. He clawed at the water until his head broke back out into the air, gulped in a breath, then black.

An image of a crimson haired woman flashed, holding a flame in her palm, smiling seductively. Her lips mouthed the words, "Drahkness Kahn." Black.

He heard the commotion of a crowd above him, the waves lightly rocking him both awake and unconscious. He looked up, past a blinding glare, to see the concerned face of Nahknani, reaching down to him. He reached his arm. His back stung in the salt water and his arm burned from exhaustion. Black.

Another image flashed. The shadow of a tall broad-shouldered man stood against the setting sun over a cliff. Below him were the reaching hands of thousands. Aegon floated over the edge to get a better look, the shadow remaining nothing more than a black silhouette as he approached. The hands were reaching from a congested crowd, arms crawling over each other to reach the highest point, drenched in something. The setting sun cast an eerie dark over the scene, but he made out the color. Crimson red. _Blood red._ The shadow stood over them laughing.

His eyes opened for only the briefest of moments to cough out sea water on the deck of the stolen ship. The bright sun cut like daggers, as he squinted to see into the face of the person holding him. Nahknani spoke to him, the sound of her voice soft, clouded, and drowned out by a high-pitched ringing he couldn't seem to shake. The words sounded like he was still under water, muffled and hard to distinguish. He looked at her through the blinding light of the sun. "Are you okay?" he asked, though he wasn't sure how loud his voice projected or if he annunciated. She looked at him, and through the glare behind her, he could see a smile on her shadowed face. Black.

He faded in and out for a few hours aboard the stolen ship, as the Brindled Men recovered from the explosion. Eventually, through the flashes of events happening and visions in his unconscious mind, he woke, still in Nahknani's arms, his partner and savior asleep, sitting up against a barrel in the middle of the deck, foot traffic bustling all around them.

He stretched the lids of his eyes, as if to prevent them from closing again. He gently picked up her arm, which was draped around and over his chest, and pushed himself up and off the wooden floor beneath him. He reached his knee, then reached his feet, and scanned the scene.

The ship had taken damage, but nothing crippling. If they expected to sail the seas, they'd be humbled by their first storm, but if they were only meaning to reach the rest of their clan, they would easily manage.

His head felt light. A dizzying flutter sank from his pounding head, ringing ears, and weak body. He reached for a nearby rail to steady himself as he felt his body began to fold. He regained his balance, and control of his legs, but the pain from the blast still shrouded his body. A cool breeze from the sea softly wisped past him, refreshing him for the slightest moment. His body was still damp and salty from the sea, and the breeze tingled on the beads of ocean that still clung to his bare skin. The rescue party must have removed the melted leather outfit he had stolen, leaving only his underclothes and boots. He looked down at himself. He looked ridiculous. He shook his head dismissing the thoughts as irrelevant and looked around the busy deck for a familiar face.

In the moments after he rose, unfamiliar faces acknowledged him and spoke. He assumed it was in their language, though the words were still muffled and drowned out by the ringing. He smiled at them, wanting to seem composed despite the disorientation and confusion he was still stuck in. One man even grabbed him for an aggressive embrace, squeezing him with both arms lifting him in the air. The grip and jolt shook his head with a pounding pain, but he managed to keep smiling, return to the ground, and continue to look for someone he knew.

Pride filled him as he scanned the deck. His crew was manning the ship, bustling from place to place, sailing as if they'd been doing it their whole lives. He didn't see any of the women, or Ootrahk. He saw one of Ootrahk's warriors, one of the Valyrian speakers, near the rudder directing those around him as if he assumed command. He saw the other Valyrian speaker in the crow's nest, yelling down information to his partner as he surveyed the blue horizon. As proud as he was to see his crew, he grew nervous. He had just remembered the last thing he saw before losing consciousness. _Dying Brindled people._

He grew anxious as his mind became clearer and his need for answers became more dire. Nahknani was holding him when he woke. She was safe, or as safe as any of them were. But what of the girls? Ootrahk? _What in the seven fucking hells happened?_

Still holding a nearby rail to maintain his balance, he saw Nahknani stirring awake, reaching for the body she held, looking for the man she had saved. Her expression began confused as she started to awaken, then flashed panic as she realized he was gone.

"I'm right here," he said, his voice muffled in his ears. She turned, sighed, and stood to berate him. Her face wrinkled in an exaggerated anger, more fear than rage, and she reprimanded him like a concerned mother, warning him not to be so brash and brazen. He couldn't make out every word she said, he thought she broke up the Valyrian with phrases from her tongue, lashing at him quickly and gutturally in between bits he could understand, though still could not hear clearly. She continued. The sass on her face, the curve of her eyebrow, the deliberate gestures with her hand, all spoke to the heart wrenching concern she had been burdened with since he went airborne. It was touching to see her fury.

"Nani, my ears are ringing, slow down. Tell me." He grabbed each of her shoulders, holding her gently, as he looked into her eyes and asked, "What happened? What the fuck happened?"

Her eyes were a lighter blue, glistening and slick, maybe from tears. The pink flecks in her pupils were tempered with an even lighter hue of amber, and the depth of her eyes felt deeper, her soul closer, as he lost himself in their beauty. He could feel her sorrow, or near sorrow as she must've thought him dead. He thought in that moment she might have died too, as he flew through the air, the shattered hull of the ship launching into their boat. His crew.

"You fucking flew is what happened. We were all watching you slash through the slavers until you reached the last one, killed him, and returned to the flames. We lost sight of you for a moment until the whole ship screamed and pieces began to fly in every direction. Fire burst from seemingly nowhere, breaking apart the ship and sending the pieces everywhere." She reached out a paw and gently touched his face. Her mouth opened, as if to say something. It closed without a word, though he felt he could tell what she had meant to say.

"You didn't lose me. Not yet anyway." He smiled at her, trying to break the tension, as the two stared into each other a world apart from the noise and movement of the busy deck. "Besides, who says I'm yours to lose?" She dropped her hand and changed her face. She pouted at first, enjoying his jest less than he did, then laughed again in her head as that familiar smile stretched across her face.

"That's right. You don't like women."

 _I do though._ He thought, still holding her shoulders softly and looking into her eyes. _I do like women. Pink women especially, but none have I met that make me feel as you do. Though the thought of being intimate with you scares me, almost disgusts me, I can feel a connection with you I cannot describe and have never felt before. Through all this shared trauma, I've come to know you. Trust you. Want you near. When I woke, I smiled to see your face again. When you woke, my whereabouts were your first concern. What is this we're doing, Nani? Where do we go from here?_

"I do," he said. "Just some more than others." His eyes lingered, then he tried to move past the moment and back into the recent past that had escaped him. "What of the ship? Are there any injured? Any dead? Do we need to make repairs?"

She rolled her eyes and shrugged his hands off of her. She replied, "The ship is fine. We do not know ships, so I do not know what needs to be done, but it floats and moves, so I think that is good. When their ship shattered, shards of wood pierced into some of those who were watching from the rails. Most were saved. Some perished. Of the those you knew, none other than Sheree lost their lives, but a total of six were slain. The fire that spread was quickly put out and we immediately turned the boat to pull you from the water."

"What of the slavers?"

"Those alive in the water, NeeNee dispatched with our archers. Some could have survived after the shatter, but most likely not. Then we turned for you."

"Are there more boats? Anyone chasing us?"

"No. The other slavers were well beyond sight when the boat shattered. We haven't seen anyone following us, but we are close to the shore. Someone could be following us on foot."

Aegon looked to the shore. From this vantage point it looked vastly different, though he thought he recognized a ridge from one of his days in the forest. The white jagged cliffs clung to the green hills like growths of broken ice. Mists rose from the surface of the water, shrouding the shore and its cliffs with a smoke like haze. The crowded forests above the cliffs shined green and gray in the bright light of the sun, flecked with the vibrant colors of the forest by day. They were headed west, toward where he initially landed, and it seemed as if their navigators had a destination in mind. The navigator steered the rudder intently, smoothly, as if the practice so far had made him a master. They caught the wind in their sails fully, and were now moving quickly over the low waves.

"Where are we going?" he asked, turning back to gaze at her, as if longingly.

"Stop looking at me like that," she said as a smile, one of her more sincere, stretched back across her face. "We are headed to a cove to land. We will go ashore and find my father and fortify a position against JaHarle's forces, should he choose to find us."

"Where were the slavers going? What does east of here lead to?" Aegon pondered aloud hoping she'd know something.

She looked to the east and said, "I don't know where they were going, but east are the lands occupied by the other clans. Some at least. Our lands are bordered by the river, which reaches the delta at Zamattar, the abandoned city they docked next to. East of there are lands in which the eastern clans wander into with no one to patrol the border. Further still are more jungles and land I know little of. I know Wyvern Point is out there. It's said that a Ghiscari penal colony or slave outpost is or was there, but none of my people have ever seen it with their own eyes. Those that have traveled have journeyed south, following the river to Yeen. None stray too far east or west of the river. Once we would travel to the Basilisk Isles, but that is another clan's history, not ours. All talks of the east or the west now are stories and not much more."

Though it made sense to regroup with Ootrihk, the slavers maneuver seemed puzzling. _Where were they going and why would they not send their full force to stop the rescue? It seemed as if the plan was to ignite whatever fire magic was aboard the ship and blow both into shards of fire and wind, but why sacrifice forty men and two ships when they could have just overwhelmed them with their full numbers? What could have been more important for the rest of their forces?_

"The slavers headed east for something important or they wouldn't have wasted the men, ships, and slaves by burning them up. They could have crushed us with, what was it, three ships, couldn't they?"

"It was four that left," she replied.

"Four ships! Right. So, they set bait, the warriors we rescued, and meant to kill us all. That white fool sounded the horn for the rigged boat to crash us into oblivion. Where else could they be going?"

"They are here for slaves, yes?" She asked. "So, if they give up slaves, they must be here for more slaves."

Though Ghiscari were known for the slave trade, and Xlatan especially, it was not the only trade they were heavily involved in. Sothoryos, according to some accounts, was a worthwhile risk for those who managed to survive it. Though little iron ore existed for steel production, vast riches could be found and mined in the jungle. Gems, rare spices, fruits, and exotic animals from Sothoryos could be found in most major markets in the general region, and if someone were able to safely procure these riches and trade them, unimaginable wealth was here for the taking. Though slavers at heart, these men were just greedy, and anyway they could get riches, they'd exploit.

"Or something even more valuable. We should have most of these people return to the shore and try to find your father, but someone must follow the slavers and find out what they are doing," he said.

"What more can you do? Are you going to sprout wings and breathe fire down upon their ships? Are you to summon a sea dragon to pull their ships down to the depths? What could you seek to learn other than your certain death if we were to follow them? Haven't you almost died enough?" The disgust in her tone masked the exhaustion as she seemingly pleaded for the fight to end. _Its only just begun._

"More of your people live east, yes?"

"More Brindled people you mean. Yes. But we know not of these clans. Less of us care," she replied with less disdain than her words implied.

"Are they not of your kind? Surely if the slavers mean to enslave them, we should warn them just the same, no?"

"If four ships are going there, how are we to stop them?"

The back and forth questions were becoming tiresome. He needed food and rest, he thought to himself as the pain in his head returned with a stronger ringing. He clutched his forehead, as if he meant to pull the feeling out of it. He stumbled for a moment and caught himself again on the rail.

She reached out to him and suggested, "After last night, this morning, the day before that, you need rest. You need to sleep. Let's find a place." He couldn't disagree, though he was still curious as to where the slavers were going and why. She took his hand and lead him below deck. Some of the Brindle people were still bustling about, moving crates from below deck to above, but mostly, the belly of the galley was empty to them. She led him to a cot and ushered him into it. He obliged, crawling into it as she went to find cloth to cover him. He laid back into it, trying to find comfort in the straw mattress. He had become so used to sleeping on the ground, it felt queer laying in a bed, but it was a welcome relief. The slight ringing in his head started to calm as he rested his head back and closed his eyes.

Nahknani sat over him, rubbing his now bald head. "The flames have burned your hair," she said, as she lightly slid her fingertips around his stubbled scalp.

"I suppose they have." He replied, melting into the bed as she tingled his head. "It's a shame. I rather enjoyed my long locks."

She smiled saying, "They were fine, for a pink man. But this suits you. The rest of you is mostly bare, why not your head?"

His body exposed, he rubbed his chest and replied, "I have enough hair on my body for most."

"Not compared to me," she said.

"Well, you're bare in the important places. At least in the places I've seen." He would have grinned at her to imply his playfulness, but he was curled on the cot, his eyes closed, enjoying his head rub.

"I heard you've seen the twins." Her voice seemed sterner, as if she was bothered.

"If they told it true, they would have said I never looked."

"They told it. I hoped I knew what was true and what wasn't. They said they tried to take you, and you were going to take them, but the mission got in the way." He turned to look at her sensing her jealousy and need for reassurance.

"They most certainly wanted me to take them. But I did not and would not."

"This person you are promised to, she must be lovely to have turned down two at once. The twins are among the prettier of our people. Sexy, is the word I think. Were you not interested at all?"

He looked into her eyes feeling the intent behind her questioning. He didn't know if it was right to say how he felt, though he felt that lying would be just as dishonorable. In his mind, the reason he didn't fuck the twins was more because of his loyalty to her than his disinterest in her kind sexually, though both were clear cut reasons why he wouldn't and didn't.

If he looked inside himself, something about Nahknani moved him. True enough, his body responded to her in ways he didn't always agree with, but it was more than that now. Though disinterested, he had always acknowledged her beauty. Her feminine form, bright smile, and breathtaking eyes were enough to elicit base attraction, but inside he felt more than that. They had formed a bond during their time together and her character and compassion had become just as desirable as her features. He knew her feelings too, as her eyes said everything every time she looked at him.

But he couldn't do it. He couldn't do _it._ Though nothing near the connection he had with Nahknani, the way the Red Woman made him feel, made him think, was altogether different. He wanted to trace his hands around a pink woman's frame. He wanted to glide his fingertips around stiff nipples on hairless skin and slide them down a rib cage of bare smooth pink flesh. He wanted to hold a hand, not a paw. He wanted to grasp a handful of hair, not fur. He wanted to drag his tongue down a body that wouldn't feel like a horsehide and taste an opening with fine curls around it, not tufts of pelt.

Lem would do it. But Aegon viewed relations much differently than his horny friend ever did. Lem thought more in the context of conquest. Aegon felt it more a connection. "The parts fit," Lem would say when they discussed this very topic, "that's the connection I'm looking for."

Nahknani was still waiting for reassurance or some kind of reciprocation of her obvious feelings for him. He could see it in her eyes. "I was not interested at all because of you. I apologize, I lied to you. There is no promised woman. I lied to not offend you in the forest, but to be honest, the real reason I turned you down is that I'm not that easy." He smiled to lessen the blow, though she seemed less upset than he thought she might be.

"I knew there was no promised woman, though I did think you might like men. You're very pretty. Almost _too_ pretty. But I did hear you say you were not interested in the twins because of me." She leaned a little closer and batted her eyelashes, "Do continue."

Aegon guffawed in a quick burst of shock so hard his head began to ring again. "I would not have dishonored your feelings for me by laying with girls of your kind. At least before I lay with you," he smirked to keep the moment from becoming to intimate.

"Aegon Velaryon," she said, in a low sultry whisper, "if you ever laid with me, and then later laid with another woman, even two at once," she paused as she often did then continued in a softer, lower whisper in Aegon's ear, "I'll fucking kill you." She sat back up, closed her eyes, cocked her head, and smiled whimsically. "Have a nice rest. When you wake, I'll be on the deck." She stopped rubbing his head, which was the worst part of her coy display, and walked away, swaying her hips as she left. Aegon checked her ass out naturally for the first time since they'd met. It was very pleasing to watch as it bounced away. She looked back, catching him mid-gawk, and smiled a sincere smile.

Aegon rolled into the wall corner of the cot and closed his eyes. His manhood slightly pulsing, though not full from their last interaction. _Maybe Lem has rubbed off on me._


	31. Chapter 31

31

The tall shadow stood in the glare of a yellow rock. Bats flew past him, swirling in the dark. Wood burned to charcoal then crushed under the weight of a hammer. There were caves, and slaves. Torches and rail cars, full of . . . something.

The images cycled in flashes as his sleeping mind battled the balance of conduit and recovery. Sleep, now, served both purposes for Aegon, but the tall shadow kept cycling through. Above the cliff looking down. Inside the cave holding a torch. The flame still couldn't penetrate the shroud around his form. Black shape, buzzing, broad shouldered, smooth headed. His form flowed down, as if in a gown or some kind of tohkar. But there was no color to the shadow. Only dark. An imaged flashed of his whip slashing, the hooked steel tip latching and tearing skin with an audible rip as loud as the painful cry from his victim. The victim's face was clear. He was an elder man, small frame, bronze skinned. He wore his grey and black hair, his hairline receded, in a top knot, tied with a dirty cloth. He wore nothing but a wrap around his waist of tattered wool to cover him to the thing, and his body was littered with old and new scars. The fresh wounds opened up on his back as the whip recoiled back with a yank from the shadow, gushing blood that quickly darkened, mixing with the dirt caked on his exposed skin. As he knelt there, the shadow swung the whip up for another crack at the man, and the image flashed to a boat.

Another Brindled Man, elder, but physically imposing, stood propped up against a table covered in maps and parchment. He stood across from the shadow, with another man or two around the table. They spoke over the table in a language Aegon couldn't place, the images and sounds muffled and hazy. Then another flash to a man, seated at a table, with vials to his left and right. He was mixing three powders together, one black, one yellow, one white, as the shadow looked on over his shoulder.

The next image was the face of the Red Woman. Stills of her face in different sexual expressions flashed in the rhythm of his pulse, her crimson silhouette thinly veiled by a dark silken sheen, flowing from her form with each flash. She flashed before him, reaching out her index finger to his lips as if to silence him. He froze, as she swayed away and lit a flame.

"Fire has no master. The living flames have ruled this world for centuries in one form or another. The Red God R'hllor is worshipped in a way by all, as even the most devout of the seven seeks the flame for its warmth, and on the darkest of nights, even the worshippers of the Black Goat light a candle to see. Fire is a gift for man to use, however he knows how to. You are a prime example. You have learned your own connection to the flames."

She continued sauntering around in front of him, "Yet your foe seeks not only to enslave people, but fire itself, and destroy the lands from Slaver's Bay to Westeros." She turned to walk away. "Seek and defeat your foe, Aegon Velaryon. The known world may rest in your hands."

She drifted away as Aegon watched, still frozen, and perplexed. " _The night is dark, and full of terrors."_ Her voice blew by like a breeze and she vanished.

More images flashed as he struggled to find meaning. The red woman was often on his mind, but never did he think _this place_ was ever part of the destiny she prophesized, except in the ironic sense. The shadow continued to play a focal role in each image, until the image of Nahknani's face flashed, and lingered. It was that playful smile, the one she wore when making a jest at him, peaking over her shoulder as she looked back, walking away. She shook her mane, the auburn ringlets and waves bouncing slowly through the air, as if time had slowed down, then looked back again with the smile still on.

He woke in the dark to a nudge on the shoulder. "Time now pink man," the voice said. "Get up. We go."

He quickly gathered himself and climbed above deck, as Brindled Warriors bustled around him unloading the scant cargo left for them aboard the galley. He pulled himself up onto the deck and looked for someone he knew again. It wasn't midnight, the faint glow from the horizon hinting at early early morning, but it was still dark enough to cover their movements from the water to the brush. A smart call by whomever had assumed command.

The row boat that brought him and the girls to the boat was used to ferry the warriors and cargo ashore, which must have been started while he slept, for almost the entire crew and supplies were already across. He noticed NeeNee ordering a few men, her bow strung to her back, saying something he couldn't understand. Their eyes met and each nodded, neither knowing the other's language, and continued on. Aegon kept with his search for someone he knew.

No one familiar other than NeeNee was on the deck, and no one was below deck when he woke. He casually wandered into the captain's chamber with little expectations of finding anyone to see a few of the leadership around the desk seamen was found on, crude maps drawn on the parchment already spread across it. It echoed his dream in a way, Ootrahk standing across from his two Valyrian speaking warriors with Nahknani across from them. They spoke in their tongue, continuing as he walked in with skipping a word, pointing and scratching at the map with a shard of wood charred at one end.

"The dragon awakes. It is good to see you well, pink man." Said Ootrahk, only shifting his eyes to acknowledge him, then averting them back to the group around the table. Nahknani nodded at him and smiled, suppressing her interactions as if the mute them in front of her newly found uncle. "I heard of dragons flying, but I've never seen one before."

"Normally, we tend to land more gracefully," Aegon responded, then quickly pivoted to inquire about their plans. "Impressive map you have there, where does it say we go?"

"Nahknani was showing us where her father has taken our people. We will meet them there with the men and supplies. We have a total of nineteen steel swords, my arahk, and a few other crates of provisions which we will need when we arrive. My scouts have searched the surrounding woods, and at least as of yet, there has yet to be any confirmed sightings of anyone following us or any groups amassed to ambush us. Once ashore, Ihkneenee and two of my men; Shohoree and Nihktu, will double back to their settlement to see if JaHarle has sent men to retaliate. Their orders are to stay hidden and report back with news. At the new encampment, myself and my men will establish a perimeter and fortify a defense strategy, most likely trenches and pikes. With steel, we can hope to win in direct combat, but eventually, JaHarle's numbers will overwhelm us, so we will have to also make some repairs to this ship in case we need an escape plan."

As Aegon heard the directives from the clan's new leader, and watched as he moved his hands over the map, his shoulders fell in what could only be described as relief. This was what he had meant to do, and the ideal conclusion to his mission was taking shape almost perfectly. At this point, he was out of his depth. He was a novice seaman at best, though successful enough with his newest crew, and knew nothing of war tactics and command strategies. He feared this moment, this responsibility, would fall to him and his inexperience would lead to the death of this entire village of people he meant to help. Though necessary for his own survival, his defeat of JaHarle's guards forced these people into a war he could provide little help as a battle commander.

Now, with Ootrahk and the warriors free, he had a seasoned military officer, familiar with the territory and enemy firmly entrenched and seasoned in command. There was no better way for him to ensure Nahknani's clan's best possible outcome, though he feared even Ootrahk could do little against the impending storm to come.

"It sounds like we are in capable hands. I am glad to have you with us, Ootrahk." Aegon said, extending his arm for a handshake.

"What's this?" Ootrahk replied confused.

"A gesture of trust in my culture." Aegon adjusted his arm and extended it out in the way one of the Brindled people had done with him before.

Ootrahk reciprocated in kind, looking directly into Aegon's eyes and said, "I speak for us all when I say we are the glad ones you have come."

Aegon looked around as they all nodded in respect to him, including Nahknani, though she added a last moment smirk to erase the over the top formality of the moment.

"I think it best you all meet with Ootrihk. I know little of fortifying a camp, so I'll leave this all to you. I was never here to become your leader. I was just thrust into a position where I knew I could help, and I have."

Nahknani interrupted him, "You say you think it best 'you' all meet my father. You did not say 'us.' Is this because your Valyrian is shit or do you mean to leave?"

"I do not mean to leave as in abandon you all, no. But I think we are best served if I travel elsewhere." Their faces looked surprised. None of them expected the pink man to do anything but continue on with them.

"Where do you mean to go? This land has nearly killed you as often as you have triumphed over it. Have you turned craven since the boat went boom?" asked one of the warriors Aegon had never met.

"As I said, I don't mean to abandon you. I have no where to go. No home to return to. I am with you until JaHarle and Xlatan have been turned back or defeated, or we are all dead. But you are all better fit to command, lead, and rule. I provide very little in the form of an obedient ground troop in a company of men larger and stronger than I."

"You provide inspiration and leadership. All these men witnessed you defeat an entire army yourself. You have the fire magic, the purple eyes. You are the Drahkness Kahn, and to have you with us gives the men strength," said the other of the two warriors. "If you leave, whether you say you are or you aren't, the people will see you leaving as abandoning us. Some will lose their fervor. Others will lose hope. To them, it will be as if we already lost just to see you go."

The other warrior continued with, "These people have witnessed you do incredible things that have brought us all to this point. Without you, we would still be exiled and our people would still be enslaved."

"We were not enslaved. It was at worst a civil occupation. Has JaHarle controlled us? Yes, but we were only taken advantage of and dictated to. Never was our freedom taken away," replied Nahknani.

"Never was yours taken away, niece, but you had it best among them all. You were never taken by their guards, forced to work the fields or the cooking pots. You were never expected to do anything other than grow into the future pin that would join JaHarle's line with ours, thus defeating our clan without a single battle. Our people have not been free since the day your mother was taken and your aunt, my wife, was killed." Ootrahk didn't mention his daughter though all in the room felt her saddening inclusion despite not hearing it.

"This has little to do with what our pink friend is intending on doing by himself in the jungle? Again, ser, we ask, 'What is so vital that you will not continue on with us?" The first of Ootrahk's warriors asked again.

"Aegon, before we continue, these are my two top captains; Shevrohn and Chekka." They nodded as Oortrahk introduced them, the first to have spoken was Shevrohn and the second Chekka.

The two were similar in many instances. Both were younger looking. They were toned and muscular, but their full frames had yet to be bulked out like some of the elder warriors like Ootrahk. They were energetic and charismatic, as he witnessed on the deck, easily giving commands that seemed well received by the rest of their crew. They both stood at the same height, a good foot taller than Aegon, and they had a similar coloring, brindled chestnut and teak, their tufts of fur healthy, almost glowing with sheen. Their faces were chiseled and broad, like most of the men, but their eyes were framed with thick eyelashes that gave them more human expressions. The main difference in appearance between the two were the shapes of their noses. Shevrohn's was thinner and angled down. Chekka's was broader and upturned. They looked to be related.

"It is a pleasure to meet you both. Shevrohn, is it?" said Aegon. The man nodded. "I thought the same thing of our foe. What is more important than defeating us that they sent only one boat at us and four east?"

Chekka added, "The boat they sent was a hidden dragon worth more than ten boats. If it wasn't for you, we would have all been destroyed."

"The boat was no dragon, Chekka, _ihk ahk lahn boont,_ don't sound so stupid," replied Shevrohn.

Aegon broke in again, "But what was it? Another question I keep asking myself. Now I know this is going to sound strange, but I dreamt of what it might be. What they are making."

"In your dream, was there a dragon?" asked Chekka to the dismay of Shevrohn. Ootrahk and Nahknani looked back at Aegon with a hint of dismay of their own. Nahknani seemed to be fuming with anger, hidden deftly in the presence of her uncle. He knew because when slightly out of view of her kin, her eyebrow wrenched into a position more appropriate to her current demeanor.

"Enough of the dragon, Chekka, and enough of this talk of leaving. The plan is set and is final," ended Ootrahk, in his mind.

"I'm not abandoning you, but I am leaving. We must know what they are doing." Aegon was not ready to yield.

"The slavers mean us no more ill will. We have defeated them. We must focus on the retaliation of JaHarle and JaHahn which will be as soon as he can find us. We may not have enough time or men to withstand an assault as is. If you leave, the brothers are right in this, we may lose the spirit of our forces." There was some truth in Ootrahk's words, as well as the brothers, but still Aegon knew he had the right of it.

"What's east?" Asked Aegon. "From what we can gather, more of your kind. He is either meeting and joining JaHarle, whose lands are east, or their going to enslave more of your kind, which also dwell east. The way I see it, the slavers mean us no more ill will until they discover we still live. Then they will finish what they've started. It is true enough what you say of the morale of the people, so I will continue with you to the camp. But once there, I will depart with a select few," he quickly adjusted his glance towards Nahknani, hoping she'd get the hint and relax her aggressive stares, "to ascertain their dual purpose here."

"It is my belief," Aegon started before he was cut off.

"From what, this dream?" asked Shevrohn incredulously.

"From many factors, the dream being one of them. It is my belief that the slavers are making the materials they used shatter the ship like that. I saw mines and caves full of forced laborers. I saw a man mixing powders, and we all saw what happened on the ship. I have seen magic. I _am_ magic. What happened today, or yesterday, was not magic. The slavers mean to _make_ whatever that was, and if they can keep making it, is there any martial plan you can drum up that can stop them?"

Silence and blank faces befell the room. He wasn't sure if they were dumfounded in disbelief of what he was saying or in such lockstep agreement they had no more words to contribute. Eventually Nahknani broke the silence with, "Who will accompany you in this task, or are you going to just leave, alone?" Probably the only question on her mind since he'd hinted to her before.

"I would only need a few. I would need someone who knows the land and is well versed in the language. Preferably, I would need someone who could treat with other clans with some authority to help me warn them and mobilize them if the need arises." His description fit Nahknani as much as he could.

"You could have just specifically requested my niece, pink man. If I tell her no, she'd follow you anyway," replied Ootrahk. "Her father will not go for it. Never. But his words hold less weight than they once did, to our people and to her. You can just ask her to join you. We are all men and women grown, we can risk our lives if we so choose."

"I ask that only those that would follow me are commanded to. I do not want to risk another man or woman for my sake or my beliefs," said Aegon, looking directly at Ootrahk, ignoring Nahknani's gaze. "And yes. It makes the most sense for Nahknani to join me. She and I know each other and work together well, she can communicate with me, and she will add credibility if we have to treat with another clan."

"Fine. You would go then, yes?" Ootrahk looked to Nahknani, who nodded. He continued. "That's nice, though I cannot let the two of you journey alone, however well you may work together. I will consult with the crew to see who else will join you. Nahknani, you can bring your women, if you choose."

She responded, "I shall ask, but NeeNee will be scouting for JaHarle's retalitation and Ooklunk wants no part of a long journey. Yunee and Vihktoona want to return home with their family. And the twins are not good for this type of work."

"The twins would be perfect. They move silent as the night." Chekka said, much to the dismay of Nahknani.

"You and I would be perfect, as we can speak with the Pink King. The twins would be useless," Shevrohn butted in.

"I can speak to the twins. They'll be perfect for me," Chekka said with a smirk.

"This is not a sexual escapade you idiot. This is a diplomatic and reconnaissance mission," Ootrahk scolded.

"Then why are you sending the love birds together? If they get to have their fun, why shouldn't I? Seems we're all likely dead soon anyway. I might as well enjoy myself in our romp through the wilderness." Chekka's words angered Ootrahk visibly. His strong brow began to tremble as his expression soured and his teeth grinded.

"I will go. So will my brother. We will bring the twins as well, and I assure you, I will keep my brother's mind focused on the right things," Shevrohn responded, trying to save face with his superior.

"It is not his mind that concerns me. You will do what you must. Gather what things you will need. Once ashore we will inform the group of your departure so that they do not misinterpret this for abandonment. Then you will depart." Ootrahk looked at Aegon and continued, "It is better you and Nani leave before we rendezvous with her father. He will have to accept it once its done, but he would never accept it if you ask."

The four left the captain's quarters and gathered the things they'd need. Food. Water skins. Weaponry. Chekka went to the twins to let them know of the plan. Nahknani hung back to talk privately with Aegon.

"This fire shatter from the boat, you think the slavers can do this again?" she asked, noticeably concerned as they walked the hall to the main deck.

"I can't say I know anything from just a dream, but what I do know is whatever caused the boat to blow like that is a power the slavers cannot be allowed to have. We must stop them from controlling this power if your people are to ever be safe."

As they were about to part to gather their own things, she replied, "Aegon, in this land, no matter how much you do, we will never be truly safe."

He smiled knowing the truth in her words. His brief time here was evidence to that. "That doesn't mean we should ever stop trying."


	32. Chapter 32

32

They had walked for the first hour straight with little said between the six of them. In the relative cover of the early morning, the sun only beginning to seep through the horizon now, they were able to make good ground east. Toward what, none of them could say.

They stayed close to the shore, though here the ground ended at cliffs instead of beaches, and the forest grew dense. The ground was covered in vines and fallen leaves. The air was thick with the sounds of animals, birds, and insects. As they moved, they stayed silent, only interacting with each other with glances and nods.

As the sun's rays shined through the bottom of the forest floor where the horizon met the sea, Chekka broke the silence, "Ihk tahl mi noon nah."

"Idiot, if you speak to the pink king, don't speak our tongue," Shevrohn scolded, "how's he supposed to know what you're saying?"

"If I just take the fucking water from him, I don't have to speak at all." Chekka aggressively reached for the water skin around Aegon's shoulder who was walking in front of him. Aegon caught his attempt and swatted his hand away. He pivoted, looked at the Brindled Man, and smiled.

"You could just ask." Aegon said as he took the skin strap from around his shoulder and handed it to Chekka.

"He's quick." Shevrohn said with a smile of his own. "If you just asked, you wouldn't have been made a fool in front of the twins you so badly want to fuck."

"Don't say that in front of them." Chekka said with a bit of growl to his tone.

"They don't speak Valyrian you idiot." Shevrohn responded.

"I know 'fuck'," one responded. Aegon couldn't tell if it was Trihknee or Trihknah.

"See Shevvy, shut the FUCK up!" Chekka said. The twins giggled.

"We should all stop for some water. Here, give me that." Nahknani ordered to Chekka. He promptly took another quick swig before tossing it over to her as she sat down on the thick black root of a nearby tree.

The sun continued to climb and beams of light shone down on the greenery. As the light hit some of the bushes and trees, colors began to swirl through the veins of the leaves, the meat of the green either lightening, darkening, or changing color all together. A beetle buzzed passed Aegon's face, as he stepped toward where Nahknani was sitting. The brothers found a spot behind another thinner tree where some moss was growing. It was still in the shade, a muted brownish green, but looked soft enough to sleep on. The twins looked for a root near Nahknani's, but she shooed them away with a fierce glance she tried to hide, but failed. One grabbed the beetle out of mid-air and thrusted it into her mouth. Maybe Trihknah. Aegon heard it crunching as she walked away to find another spot, but he didn't look back to see where.

He sat down next to her on an adjacent root and twirled the pack from his back onto his lap. He reached in for some food. The stolen ship had fruit on it, among a few other provisions, and each of the travelers brought enough with them to sustain them for a few days of travel. He pulled out a plump orange sphere of fleshy soft fruit and bit into it like a Westerosi peach. The tangy sweet juice seeped into his mouth with each bite as he reached into the bag for another to offer Nahknani.

"Want some?" he mumbled, his mouth still half full.

"No," she responded staring off into the jungle. Her gaze was distant as if off in thought.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked.

She turned to look at him. Her eyebrow furrowed. "I trust you, Aegon, but what are we doing? Why are we running away like this?"

"I told you on the boat. I-"

"I know what you said on the boat," she said, cutting him off before he could finish his thought. "I get it. You had a dream. A vision. I remember your dream when you lay almost dead as I healed you. You were dreaming then. Dreaming of something terrible. What did you see? Is it the same thing? Do you see the future? Do you know our fate? Does it happen sometimes or only now?"

She asked so many questions, Aegon didn't know which to respond to first, or how. "Easy, Nani-"

"Don't call me that. Only the people that love me call me that."

"Nani," he looked into her eyes as he said it and smiled. "It's not just the dream. They sailed east when they could have stopped us right there. Something is more important to them than stopping us. And since we've started this journey together, its all pointed to the slavers taking advantage of your people. JaHarle, Ootrahk, your father, they could also be taking the other clans for all we know."

"They are not my concern," she said and shrugged. "I've never even met anyone from the clans past JaHarle's. We need to be with _my_ people. I am afraid of what will happen while we are gone."

"Your people are safe, Nani. But only for now, if I'm right. Something is leading me to where I'm needed. Something has since my ship wrecked," _maybe even before._ "Something led me to you." He said, again looking into the mesmerizingly blue orbs that were her eyes. They looked like sapphires filled with all the stars from the sky, and swirls of the soft purple of a sunset.

"Stop it," she nudged him. "Seriously. Are they safe? How could they be?"

"In a matter of speaking, they are for now. How will JaHarle know where they are? And if he's working with the Ghiscari, he'd think Ootrahk's forces dead. He wouldn't know to send enough men he'd need to win." She heard his reasons, but her face remained unchanged.

She said, "We have far to journey then." She turned her back to Aegon as she reached in her own pack for something. She pulled out something that looked like a stick of salt beef, but paler, and announced to the rest of the group, "Don't get too comfortable. We have a long way to go and I want to get back to our people as soon as we can." She bit into the stick, ripped at it, and put the remaining length back into her pack. She turned her head back to him and lowered her voice again, "I hope you know what you're doing." Aegon hoped the same.

The smaller groups of two all converged after a brief rest to drink, eat, and relieve themselves and they began to trudge back out into the unknown. Of all of them, only Shevrohn had ever been this far, but even he had never gone much further than the mouth of the river. As far as Aegon's journey through Sothoryos had taken him, this would be that much further. As hard as they had all fought, this fight would be that much tougher. Aegon didn't have confidence in the himself or the mission on its own, but he trusted in destiny and honor, and he knew this was the right thing to do. Regardless of the cost.

Morning turned into afternoon as the band of travelers continued east. They jogged through dense forests full of life and vegetation, colors so bright and beautiful in the sunlight the scene was almost distracting at times. The group began to conversate with each other more, the twins and Chekka huddled in motion speaking the tongue of the Brindled Men, Shevrohn, Aegon and Nahknani talking mostly in Valyrian.

They didn't talk about anything specific. Once, Aegon asked about a bird he saw dancing. He had never seen an animal move in the way that it was, jumping back and forth, vibrating its luminescent plumage and puffing up thick black feathers to contrast with the streaks of bright orange and a glittering purple. Shevrohn called it the Lohknay Vehr, or lover bird, and explained this dance was a mating ritual. Aegon almost convinced the party to stop to watch it, but the brothers giggled when Nahknani replied, "If I thought you could learn something useful, I'd say let's stop, but that bird is too advanced in his arts for you to fully understand, so the lesson would be lost on the likes of you." When Chekka explained what she said in their language to the twins, they laughed even harder, and they all agreed to keep moving.

Another instance later, Aegon stopped to ask about a three-foot rat or beaver he had seen. "What the fuck is that?" he asked, seeing the giant rodent gnawing at a root on the forest floor. Aegon hated rats, a common vermin aboard ships and around harbors. He had grown to accept them, at their size, illogically frightened of them, trying to keep them out of his sight, then out of his thoughts. But this fucker was huge! And it bothered him to see a giant fucking rat!

Shevrohn called it a Cahpeebarrahk. He said they were the favorite prey of the jahkyar. "But you would know all about this wearing a cloak like that." He chuckled to himself, amused by the apparent fear of a rodent by the man wearing the dead skin of carnivorous big cat. "That being said, we should keep our eyes open. If cahpeebarrahk are around, very close the jahkyars will follow."

When the sun had reached the top of the sky, they decided to stop again. When they all sat, the twins and Chekka found their own spot, as Shevrohn found a spot by himself. Aegon found a spot that was somewhat clear, only covered with a few leaves, and sat down comfortably on them. Nahknani followed him, laying near him, her legs crossed, the top bent in an elegant way that accented the shape of her calf. Aegon laid back into the leaves and looked up into the canopy. "I miss Lem. What did you do with him?"

"I told him to stay. He didn't. I told him to stay back. He listened to that somewhat. I would bet he's not far. They say hahkyeen have among the best sense of smell in the lands and I'm sure he's trying to find us. He's found you before, hasn't he?" She turned her torso to look at him. Her auburn locks swayed from her shoulder and down, draping her smiling face as he looked up at it. The sun gleamed on the twirls of red and the parts that glared back at him almost looked aflame. None of the other Brindled People had coloring like her. They were all blackish, grayish, brownish even a little blueish. In the North, they said you were kissed by fire when you had red hair. In that moment, it looked like Nahknani was.

"That little guy has taken a serious liking to you." He said, raising his head and turning toward her. He rested his head back down on his hand, propping it up on his elbow as he laid on his side, looking at her.

She smiled, gently tossed her head and hair back, and looked back at him. She spoke softly saying, "He has, hasn't he? I mean, what's not to like?"

"Do you want me to list it?" He said, chuckling under his breath. Her face twisted into that adorably angry face she made at jests and shoved his shoulder. He shoved her back, softly with one hand, playfully. She grunted, grinding her teeth, and quickly shoved back, hard, and knocked him over. She lost her own balance, and fell on top of him, their faces almost crashing into each other.

She bounced off of him awkwardly, and her face shrunk with shame. She propped herself back up and turned her body away from him, curling her knees to her chest and hugging them.

He propped himself up on both elbows behind him, then sat up and climbed to his knees. He brushed the hair off of her shoulder and neck with his left hand, and gently glided his fingers through the hair above her ear. She turned her head slowly with the gentle pressure from his left hand and repositioned her body, still curled into herself but facing him.

They locked eyes, and paused for a moment. He brought his left hand back down beside her to prop him up. He leaned toward her with his right hand out to meet her face. His fingertips gently slid through the hair on the other side of her head and brushed it back until he had the back of her head in his palm. His face met hers and they kissed. Her soft lips met his with a rush of blood to his head and a tingle on his own pouted lips. He didn't think as much as he did as he recoiled for another, his mouth and hers slightly open. It was subtle, gentle, and they recoiled for a few more times. His heart was racing too quickly to count.

She reached for him and pulled him down on top of her. He landed in between her legs and kissed her again. He propped himself up with his left and continued to hold her head with his right. She reached down to his breeches. She traced the outline of his hard member through the fabric and then grabbed the laces to open them. He stopped kissing her and said in between a breath, "Not yet." He panted and continued, "Just this."

He continued to kiss her and they began to roll back and forth. She rolled on top of him and pinned him down with her legs wrapped around his hips. She sat down on him with her ass and arched her upper body back, reaching her hands behind her. Her wrap loosened and fell, exposing the full swell of her breasts. Each fell in place and bounced back smoothly, the soft pale skin of her flesh hairless in the most important places. Her nipples were hard, pointed, and pink. She paused, as she did, as if to let him behold her splendor. She _was_ splendid indeed. The sun shone down through the canopy and framed her with an amber glow, her hair all a tangle and wild from rolling. After her pause, Aegon wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back down to him, meeting her chest with his lips, kissing and nibbling up to her neck. He leaned his head back and looked up at her, waiting for her to lean her head down to kiss again. She looked into his eyes and started to slowly descend.

Behind him, twigs snapped and leaves rustled. It wasn't close enough to see what it was, but it was close enough to hear. Nahknani jumped off him to her feet. Her breasts bounced as she rose and he couldn't help but stare. "Get up." She said, looking down on him, her face now stern and sober.

He gathered himself to his feet and scanned the forest with her. The noises stopped when they rose, as if in response to them. That made them both even more uneasy.

It wasn't Lem. He'd just bound up to them and crash into the middle of their kiss. Probably. In a lot of ways he was just like Lem, and Lem, the human, would definitely do that. _Cock block._

There was something else in the forest with them. He didn't know what. And by the look on Nahknani's face, neither did she.

From behind them, he heard Chekka call to them in Valyrian, "Did you hear that?"

Nahknani turned to answer, covering her exposed chest with both arms, "Alert the other's. I don't know what it is, but get ready."

"What were you doing to have your tits out?"

"Now!" She growled, and flashed her teeth.

Chekka spoke their tongue to the others as Shevrohn and the twins popped up with their weapons in hand, ready.

Aegon squinted trying to focus his vision, but nothing stood out against the terrain. Neither he, Nahknani, or any of the others could see anything on the ground, or even in the trees. Aegon stepped cautiously towards where he heard the noise. His pace was somewhere between a casual stroll and a tip-toe, but after a few steps, the culprit scurried away again, snapping more twigs and crunching more leaves, and they saw the small black silhouette.

Aegon pursued it, the thing was too small to cause any real harm, but curiously, he wanted to know what it was. It ran somewhat like a person, though its legs were shorter in proportion to that of a normal biped. It almost waddled back and forth as it ran, its arms much longer than its legs, and used its arms from time to time almost as front feet, leaning into some steps to gain more ground. It was covered in thick black fur, with broad shoulders for a little guy, and black fingers, with black nails instead of claws.

After a short chase, Aegon caught up to it and continued slowly toward him. He tried calling to it with whistles and clicks, even going as far as to speak to it in the common tongue. "C'mere little one. We won't hurt ya."

Aegon lowered himself to appear less threatening and called to it once more with a whistle. The creature turned and looked at Aegon. It had a face that resembled a person's, all black, with a sunken nasal cavity and wide white and brown eyes that showed its soul. It was a juvenile, maybe even an infant, and it looked frightened, though not at Aegon. Nahknani caught up to him and knelt next to him. The creature immediately looked more comfortable and hobbled over to them with what looked like a smile. It had teeth and a facial structure like the Brindled Men, yet it was clearly more ape like in manner and build. In his journey's, Aegon had seen all types of different monkeys before, but he had never seen an all-black one without a long tail. And for a juvenile, it was huge, almost as big as Lem.

Nahknani reached out her hand toward it, and it reciprocated by curling into her, rubbing the top of its head on her hand as if to solicit attention. She smiled as it looked up at her, still bare-chested, and reached for her breasts. "Those aren't for you, little one." She said, gently shooing his black hands away.

Another crack deeper in the woods sounded, and the little ape jumped into Nahknani's arms. "I think he's being hunted," she said, hugging the infant close.

Aegon stood up and looked around. He had a feeling he knew what it was they were looking for, so he looked into the trees. He listened for another crack. None came. The forest was silent.

"Take him toward where we were. I'll find the hunter." He switched the dirk from his right to his left and picked up a rock the size of his fist with his throwing hand. He scanned the trees, looking for the spotted suspect he thought was responsible, circling the area to find the predator.

He thought he saw something above him and heaved the rock. It hit a body and a subtle grunt came out in the tone of a roar. The jahkyar exposed itself and climbed away, darting at first, then slowing to a defeated saunter. It disappeared into the canopy as silent as it had come, and when he looked to the baby ape, he saw the fear melt off its little face, and refocus on Nahknani's exposed breasts.

"It must be hungry," she said, as the ape kept reaching for them even as she re-wrapped herself. The twins hurried over to coo at the baby, now that the threat had been handled, and coddled it as if it were their own.

Shevrohn stepped toward Aegon saying, "That is a baby silfahkbay, or Gray back. They are the largest apes in the jungle, save Great Chahka. Its mother can't be far. We don't want to be here when she finds it."

"We can't just leave him here. The jahkyar will come back." Nahknani replied, as she stepped away and let the twins enjoy their time with it.

"So what? You want to take it with us?" asked Shevrohn, clearly against the idea.

"No. We'll just let him follow us is all," Nahknani said, ending the discussion. Shevrohn was not pleased.

They gathered their things and began to travel again, letting the little ape tag behind. A few times it reached for Nahknani and the twins, stretching its long hairy black arms up as if it was asking to be held. The women each took turns obliging him, succumbing to the extreme cuteness he displayed with each pitiful glance. He certainly knew how to manipulate the girls.

It wasn't very long back into their journey they heard more rustling in the distance. The three men readied themselves, as the three women continued to pass around the infant ape. "Sounds like soon enough we'll meet its kin," Chekka said. "And it will be good riddance too, taking all the attention."

"You're just jealous the pink king had Nahknani's tits out, and you haven't even seen as much as an ankle." Replied Shevrohn.

"Their ankles are out now."

"They're not out for you."

Though the brothers were always entertaining as they bickered, Aegon remained focused on the distant forest and the rustling that slowly approached them. "Bring the little thing here." He yelled to Nahknani. "If its his family, I want them to see him first."

A bush cracked and bent wildly toward them as the first of the ape's kin came into view. A much larger version of the infant bounded forward through the brush leaning forward on its knuckles as it ran. The all black figure looked at a height with the men he was traveling, or taller, and had thick muscular arms and chest twice as thick as his companions. More followed closely behind, some a bit smaller, some a bit larger, but all of them were jet black from head to toe. _Why are they gray backs?_

They hooted low and softly. There was empathy in their voice as they called. The baby jumped out of Trihknah's, or Trihknee's, he couldn't tell, and hooted back excitedly, running back to them with its arms in the air. Aegon saw the eyes of the first ape that broke through the bush light up, and saw it almost visibly smile as it called again, loudly, and ran over to the baby.

It grabbed it, hugged it tightly and pushed it up as it crawled onto its shoulder. They hooted at each other, the larger more intensely than the baby at first, then the baby cooed and hooted like it was telling a story.

The larger looked up at them, acknowledged them with a lasting stare, then turned back into the forest with the rest of its party and vanished shortly into the brush.

"I'll miss him." Nahknani said.

"How do you know it's a him?" Chekka asked.

"I can just tell." As Nahknani finished, the brush exploded again with a loud crack and another large figure emerging out of the greenery. This one was much larger, four or five heads larger than the brothers, dwarfing the other gray backs in height and girth. Its forearms were as thick as barrels, thicker, and its chest was as wide as a row boat. Its fierce face was longer than the other's. Its fangs were bared like the Brindled Men, but larger. Sharper.

It stood straight, gaining height until it's head reached a branch no one would describe as low hanging and beat its chest with successive thumps, grunting low and loud. It lowered back down onto its knuckles and punched the ground a few times before looking back at them. At the angle it was standing, Aegon saw its back. _Now I get it._

In the distance Aegon heard a hoot, from the others that had just left most like. The enormous one turned and responded. He turned back to stare down Aegon and his party.

"If we all attack at once, we could bring him down," Chekka said, arming himself with his new steel.

"At least one of us will die," Shevrohn responded, looking around, waiting for the rest to arm themselves.

The gray back saw Chekka's stance and stood again, seemingly threatened by his posture and stepped toward them.

"Stand down. If we do not pose a threat, he will not attack," Aegon said with a strange authority. He wasn't sure about what he thought, but he felt deeply that this was nothing more than a protective father. If they backed down, so would he.

"Then why is he still charging," replied Chekka, still poised in a striking stance.

"Because you are still in a threatening stance. Stand down!" Aegon yelled as the ape started moving faster.

"Chekka, ehk too ihk ahk lan!" Shevrohn yelled at his brother. Chekka quickly dropped his sword and kneeled with his head down. Shevrohn followed suit. As did the girls who were intensely watching despite their silence. Aegon lowered himself, but kept his eyes on the approaching beast.

It saw them defer and stopped. A few more moments and it would have been on them, but it snorted a few more times, turned and began to walk away back where it had come from. They froze until it was out of sight. Aegon exhaled dramatically. It felt like he was holding his breath for hours.

"It did turn around after all. Fucker. Stay away." Chekka taunted as the ape was fully out of sight and ear shot. "You aren't too bad to have around pink king. Seems like you were right."

Aegon rose to his feet and turned his head to Chekka. After a brief pause he replied, "Hopefully from here moving forward you remember that and listen to me."

Shevrohn responded with a smirk on his face, "Good luck. I've been trying to talk sense into him since he was born."

"True brother," Chekka said, "but you were never right. The pink king is."

_At least this time._

A/N. Hello all. Once again, thank you for reading. We've reached a landmark here as the story moves into the final act. Of all the things I want to hear feedback about is the budding relationship here and your thoughts. I embarked on this journey, and that specific subplot, thinking this would never happen. Now, I fear, it is starting to, but much like Aegon, I am confused. I'd love to hear what you guys think as your perception of all this is not preconceived like mine is. I have always thought differently, until organically all this has lead to where we're at. PM or comment on the story, I'm interested to hear what you guys think.

As always, thank you so very much for reading.


	33. Chapter 33

33

The darkness of impending night creeped upon them like a stalking predator. It had been a few hours and a few stops since the baby gray back so the party stopped again and started to discuss their plans for the evening.

"Ookt wi nahk Nahknani and drahkness kahn kil kuhn ahk deeku," Trihknah said, chuckling. The rest of the Brindled People were amused save Nahknani herself. In context, it was a jest about sex, but he could only understand his name and hers.

Her sister responded, saying something in their tongue as she hugged herself dramatically with both arms, pretended to swoon, and swayed down to the floor, twisting subtly from side to side as she joked. Nahknani responded with a joke of her own, and the rest of the party all laughed as she turned to look at him with that sinister grin.

Shevrohn added his own jest, then Chekka, then it seemed they were all talking about him in the foreign tongue. He tried to laugh as well, but he felt as foreign as he'd ever felt, a bastard once again. He didn't let his face show it, but he took slight offense to the mocking. Not that he didn't enjoy a good jest himself, but that they chose to hide it from him in their tongue. He thought to call them out, Chekka seemed easiest, or Nahknani, but he decided not to, exhausted enough from the travel that day.

He turned his back to the Brindled banter and reached into his sack for nourishment. He would have to start a fire for more water, having drank what he had already, and the juice from the fruit could quench his thirst enough for the moment. He bit into it, and heard footsteps approaching from behind him. A hand reached out for his shoulder it was Nahknani.

"I'm sorry, did we offend you with our jests?" She sat next to him, but he didn't turn to look.

"I couldn't understand what you were saying, save for Nahknani and Drahkness Kahn."

"Then why are you over here by yourself?"

"I'm not. You walked over here." It seemed she was giving him a chance to complain, but he didn't want to give in to it. Walking all this way since the gray backs, and the intense moments just before, he had a lot of time to think about what had happened.

Thoughts kept circling in his head going from _What am I doing being with this creature?_ to _What am I doing pretending I don't want her?_ and everything in between. For an hour, he told himself that tonight he'd make love to her. The latter half of the next hour, he decided he'd never touch her again. That was about two hours ago, and since then, he'd switched back and forth so many times he couldn't remember which way he was leaning now. He used the jests as an excuse to allow some distance. The last thing he wanted to show is that he cared, because he wasn't sure if he was willing to admit if he did or not yet.

"Did you guys decide on a plan for tonight?" he asked.

"Shevrohn says if we can travel for a bit longer, we'll reach a clearing with a cliff as cover behind us. It should be safe enough."

"Let's go. The sun is fading fast." He said, standing and grabbing his pack.

"We haven't talked about . . . before." She said. He wasn't looking but knew the face she was making. She softened her voice and probably widened her beautiful eyes. He refused to look, for the moment.

In his mind, he was still struggling with a feeling he couldn't define. It wasn't as harsh as shame, though he felt it had the remnants of some. In his dealings with the Brindled People, they had become just that to him, people. In his mind, they were no longer "beasts", just hairy humans to his pink.

He felt embarrassment, as still sexually inexperienced for a man his age, he wasn't sure if what he was doing was the way that she wanted it. Even kissing, he'd found that some girls wanted it soft and thoughtful. Other's wanted it to hurt, biting and scratching at his back. He would have assumed the wild beauty before him preferred the latter, but with the way he felt, he wanted the kiss to reflect that. She wasn't some wet cave to park his ship in. The building feelings inside him felt like something more. Something stronger.

He tried to give it meaning. In the moment, he reacted to the pain in her face and wanted to show her how he truly felt for her. The problem was, his feelings were a constantly evolving puzzle, and as they spoke now, he was still unsure.

After stalling long enough, he replied, "What should we say?"

"Since it happened, I can't stop thinking about it." _It sounds like she liked it, at least._ "But I also can't stop thinking about why. Why did you do it? Why did you kiss me, Aegon?" She looked into him, not as she sometimes did to influence him, but to open up fully to him. The tone of her voice, the slight quiver in the words as she finished them, the glossy wide eyes she struggled to keep focused on one thing; she was wholly vulnerable in this moment. If he wanted, he could mutter a few words and diminish her heart to ruins. If he so chose, he could sing a mummer's song and win it forever. She was bare, as bare as her bouncing chest was as she arched back on top of him, shining in the rising sunlight. And her whole world was resting on his next words.

He reached into his mind for the truth, as she deserved nothing less. It took a moment, his thoughts so clouded and contradictory, like sailing through a thick mist, and he did not want to run aground. He opened his mouth about to speak but caught the words he meant but didn't want to hear before they left his lips. After thinking a moment more, he gained the courage to say them anyway. "When I look into your eyes, I see myself. Not my reflection, but the space in your soul I occupy. The opening in your heart that I fit into." Her eyebrow rolled as her left eye began to well with a drip. "I see the feeling you have for me, and that feeling urges me toward my own." He cleared his throat, as he felt himself begin to stammer out of an anxious uneasiness inside him building. It wasn't a negative, just overwhelming, and he tried to compose himself for her sake. "I still don't know what to do, or how deeply I feel. But I too feel this between us. I smile when you do. I laugh when you laugh. When you are hurting, or in pain, I am hurting. Though I'm still coming to terms with it, what I'm beginning to feel, is. . ," his mouth couldn't finish. Its like his chest collapsed onto his words and trapped them. He looked down and away from her mesmerizing gaze, her eyes now smiling, though her mouth was still left loose with doubt.

"What I'm trying to say is I kissed you because I've always wanted to."

"Then kiss me again." Now her lips stretched in that sinister smile, and it was the sexiest he'd ever seen a woman look, Brindled or bare.

A voice from over her shoulder beckoned her in their tongue. She ignored it, closed her eyes, and pursed her lips. He leaned over and kissed her, gently meeting his lips to hers. He stopped after a moment and said, "C'mon. We'll continue talking later."

Her eyes were still closed, her lips still slightly parted. She whispered, "I hope that's not all we continue."

They stood and rejoined the group to finish the rest of their journey. They had brought two tents (Chekka's idea) one large, one small, and would set them up when they reached the clearing. Shevrohn said they had little over half an hour to go if they moved swiftly, so they set off at a faster pace. The light lit less and less of the forest each moment that passed, it seemed, so the quicker they reached their destination the better.

Aegon was unsettled about passing by the abandoned slavers' camp on their way. Even if they still had only a minimal force stationed there, that force would still be large enough to strategically outmaneuver any formation the six of them could muster. Though his group was certainly strong enough to potentially win, he feared that a battle like that would inevitably lead to losses, which he knew would all but eviscerate the trust and goodwill he'd built in the mission. These people all loved each other. Brothers. Sisters. Nani. If they were to lose any of them, grief would end their mission, and maybe his life, as the one to blame in rage.

They couldn't be caught. They couldn't be seen. But as far as they could tell, all the slavers left their camp and sneaking past would be a non-issue. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. He thought to pray, but then thought _to who?_

He kept pace with the longer legged Brindled Men and reached the clearing Shevrohn spoke of just as the last light from the sun sank below the horizon. From the edge of the cliff, the sun set in a spectacular mix of colors, as a storm brewed miles off shore and the pink, orange, and purple swirls in the sky made it look like the gods had dropped ink into the fluffy clouds. The three girls lagged behind a bit, still clearly in view, but haggard from the arduous trek. They had gone as far as the boat had or damn near, though their path was more linear and the boat had been docked for hours waiting for the dark. Still, they had traveled far and all needed rest.

While waiting for the girls, Shevrohn began setting up the tents as Chekka sat down next to Aegon who was panting from exhaustion. "Do you know what was said in our tongue earlier? I could tell you if you cared to know." He wasn't sure if Chekka was offering his kind assistance or setting up another jest.

"If it pleases you to tell me, I won't." Deep down, Aegon really did want to know exactly what was said, though he was confident he already generally knew the gist of it.

"We were talking and someone asked, 'What are we going to do tonight.' Then, Trihknah said, 'We all know what Nahknani and you are doing tonight.' Then Nahknani responded with, 'If you think its sex, I'm not sure he can.' We all laughed at that. The twins told me about when they tried to seduce you, too. You could have fucked them both, but left them naked and wet on their backs. So they think you a eunich."

"Are you going to gossip all night, brother, or are you going to help with the camp. He killed an entire boat of slavers, the guards in our old village, and his puny pink legs somehow kept up with us. He can rest. You, on the other hand, have done nothing but eat, piss, and shit this entire time. You didn't even kill one of them on the beach."

Chekka interrupted him, "They had steel to our sticks. It was no fair fight."

"Since your translating, did you tell him what I said, or are you just trying to cause tension between him and the females on this journey?"

"What did you say, Shevrohn, if it please you?" Aegon asked, curious as to why he would tell his brother to explain it.

"I said, that you were a truer man not to fuck the twins than if you did. And that I would wait forever if it meant the chance to one day have you." He smiled and Aegon felt extreme uneasiness. "I see the look on your face, yes, I enjoy men. And no, I won't rape you. There would be no pleasure in that."

Aegon didn't know what to say. In winesinks and outside of brothels, there sometimes were the ladymen that would entice sailors of a certain taste to bed. They would look at him with the same eyes, though Aegon never feared an assault. This man was different. Huge. It was intimidating to hear he wanted him. Aegon was glad to hear he wouldn't try, but felt just as shocked and uneasy regardless.

Shevrohn removed his smile, and continued, "It sounds like you don't just bed any girl that fancies it, and that is as rare as a Brindled Man that prefers men. Being rare is special. Don't take offense to the whims of these common minded brutes. All they know is fucking feels good. They release and go back to the rest of life. You still honor what it means to connect like that, and for that Nahknani should be thankful."

Aegon didn't know what to say. "Thank you," came out, almost as a question. Then the women arrived, breathing heavily and dropping their packs as soon as they reached the beginning of the clearing. They all fell to the floor, moaning from the agony of the run.

"I'll start a fire. Does anyone have any water left?" Aegon asked.

"No, but there is a small pool near here. If I leave now, I should be able to find my way back if you get the fire started." Shevrohn said as if he hadn't just said all that he had. "I'll take everyone's skins and fill them."

Aegon gathered some logs and sticks from the nearby woods and built a fire. He got it burning quickly enough, and sat down in front of it on a log he hadn't yet committed to the flames. A half an hour after Shevrohn left for the pool, it was completely dark save the light from the flames. The girls managed to bring themselves close to it for a moment or two, still too tired to talk, but the twins shortly afterward left for the larger tent to sleep. Nahknani stayed at the fire with Aegon and nestled next to him on the log, wordless, still slightly panting. Chekka snuck into the larger tent after the twins for a shot at glory.

Nahknani leaned into Aegon as he removed his cloak and wrapped it and his arm around her. She tucked her head beneath his chin as they sat silently for a while and watched the flames. The last time he spent this much time looking into flames was when he was with another red headed woman. This felt different. Better.

He spoke softly, "You said we'd finish that talk."

"We will."

"Just not now?"

"No. I know what I need to know."

In a world of constant threats of death, he felt at peace. Realizing the feeling, he immediately began to fear again. Every time he felt even a splinter of peace, something else happened. He was right.

He heard branches swaying in the forest beyond the light of the flames, above them and growing louder, closer. For an instant he thought it could be Shevrohn returning with the water, but he couldn't hold the skins and swing too. Or could he? Whatever or whoever was approaching, they did so with intent, as the sounds of the branches swaying, the leaves swishing, was constant and deliberate. Whatever it was felt it didn't need to hide.

He nudged Nahknani, who popped her head off him as he leapt to his feet and unsheathed the dirk. The bright light of the flames' contrast made the forest around him even darker, and he could only see the first four or five feet in front of him until his surroundings became a black abyss. The noises continued to grow closer.

The sound swung from its last branch with the crack of wood and a swoosh of leaves, and plummeted down to the forest floor with a thud. Footsteps approached and they sounded like they were only steps away from the light. Aegon stood in his stance readied.

"Ooh ahk iss nahggaa?" A voice called out.

Nahknani responded, "Ihk ahss koo nah," she said, then spoke to Aegon in Valyrian, "It's Nee Nee."

The long thin limbs swayed into the light with an orange glow as the Brindled Woman stepped towards them. Her expression was similar to the time she returned from scouting before the beach, but she wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to be scouting for JaHarle's retaliation force.

She spoke to Nahknani with deliberate haste, pointing back into the dark behind her a time or two. Nahknani responded as they continued their conversation. Back and forth they went in their tongue, until Nahknani turned to Aegon to transfer the message. NeeNee watched from behind with that same intense stare, her bow and a quiver of arrows strapped around her back and shoulder.

"She's been following a group that has picked up our clan's trail from home. JaHahn's group. They were camped and settled for the night not too far from here when they saw the smoke from the fire. They rose and began to pack up the camp, thinking they've found our group, so NeeNee raced to the fire to warn whoever was here. She didn't expect to find us, but JaHahn's men are coming, ten of them, and though she got a good head start, they are not far away, and will be here within the hour."

"But they aren't expecting us." He said, with a smirk.

"What are we going to do?"

Shevrohn ran into the light, out of breath. "I saw movement in the trees." He sighed, "It's just you Ihkneenee." He had the water skins around his neck. _Good._ Aegon thought. _We all need a drink before what we're about to do._

"It's not just her. She's been following JaHahn's men, they're coming here. Now." Nahknani said in Valyrian.

"But like I said," Aegon butted in. "They aren't expecting us. They're expecting Ootrihk and the women. Ask NeeNee if they're armed with sticks or steel."

They spoke in their tongue, than Nahknani replied to him, "Sticks."

"Good. Now, get your brother and the twins. This is what we're going to do."

A/N My apologies to anyone who may be offended by the comments on the homosexual aspects of this chapter. Nothing was written with the intent of offense. This was an effort to show inclusion, which may have been executed incorrectly, but don't mistake my execution for my intent. Shevrohn is an important and interesting character, and the fact that he is homosexual, neither defines his toughness or standing within his community. He also wears it, like Tyrion said, as armor. He knows who he is and is comfortable in his own skin.

Aegon, however, is obviously a little uncomfortable, which fits in with some of the themes here. Just like the semi-offensive view of the Brindled Race as Beasts, because they are different, he reacts similarly here, not sure how to feel with limited experience interacting with someone like this. And as a heterosexual man, there is a much different connotation between a homosexual man hitting on you and a huge homosexual man hitting on you. It is a form a demasculinity, which is an interesting position to put our hero in, for now.

Again, I wanted to promote inclusion, and if I offended anyone, please PM me to explain what I did wrong, and how I can make sure to avoid it in the future. I love and appreciate everyone reading, no matter what you look like or who you love. Even if you love Thanos and the Lannisters. Even then, lol.


	34. Chapter 34

34

The fire roared as it engulfed all the wood Aegon could find in the short time he had. It was built like a pyre, thick smoke coming off of it in twirling grey ribbons. He sat facing the fire with his back to the cliff, the bright orange light illuminating most of the forest in front of him. When they arrived, JaHahn's ten would all be in perfect view.

He sat patiently, scanning the edge of the light as to not be taken unawares, ever so often gazing into the burning pattern of oranges and reds in the enormous dancing flame. The heat from each flare felt cool on his face, as he sat much nearer than any mortal man would dare. Sparks of the burning wood popped as they shot quickly past him, and the ashes of the charred wood fell like a light snow when the wind picked up.

The smell of burning sap and leaves smelled sweet as he sat smiling on a log he found. Aegon remarked as he noticed himself, "I'm quite comfortable for someone awaiting an ambush," but he was the only one there.

For a moment, he felt caught in a daze, staring into the flames. Then he heard them, not too far out from the light, and he pulled his dirk from its sheath. He reached into his sack for another fruit, and bit it. He wanted to look unbothered to JaHahn's new men.

The first Brindled Man stepped into the light with a long, powerful stride. The rest of his frame reached into the light and revealed the imposing frame of his foe. He wasn't as tall as Ootrahk, but his chest, arms, and legs were broader. And younger. Shadows flickered behind the ridges of his muscular physique, each muscle grotesque and bulging beneath his skin and fur, sharply cut into shapes that fit his body like armor. He had a jet-black streak of hair on the top of his head shaved into an arrow head, and the tufts of fur around the rest of his body and face were brindled onyx and copper. He wore paint on his face and chest, the signal of his command, and he carried two thick short staffs, one in each hand, as thick as Aegon's wrists wrapped with a leather band for grip. _No steel._

As he stepped closer, he looked around the clearing for signs of others. They were expecting Ootrihk's clan, but they would not find them here. He looked at Aegon with bewilderment, a quiet rage building behind his eyes. His one eyebrow furrowed and quivering. His mouth bent in anger and frustration. He looked desperate.

"JaHahn, I presume," Aegon said seated from his log.

"You're supposed to be dead, little one." He said, turning to the rest of his party for their chuckles as they stepped in the light ten across. Most of them looked as young or younger than their leader. Greener too.

"From when? The time you sent Niistrihk against me and ran, or the time the slavers sent an exploding boat? It seems I'm not so easy to kill." The rest of his warriors stood as stone sentinels unable to understand the Valyrian conversation, waiting for their next command.

"Easy enough now that you're on your own and surrounded without the element of surprise. It was cute what you did in the woods that night, but tonight is not that night. This will not end in your favor. You have two options, come quietly and we will not harm you, much, or resist and we will break every non-vital bone in your body until you can no longer use either legs or arms to shit with, not to mention fight or walk or even crawl. My men are strong enough to carry you back alive, regardless of the condition." He stepped forward another two steps, his knuckles whitening around his short staffs. His lackeys followed closely behind.

"To save your men's lives, honor me with a fair fight. You against me. Champion against champion. If you win, I will come in whatever condition I'm in. If I win, you and your clan will leave here now, tell your masters you found nothing but the dead washed ashore." He stood up finally, and rolled his head on his neck to stretch it. He appeared relaxed. Fearless. JaHahn; not as much.

Flustered, JaHahn yelled out, "Fuck you pink man. I will have a taste of your blood, but not now, not like this. You either come now, or we will ALL break you."

"So, you fear me then. Yes?"

"I fear no one." His voice softened a bit. Enough to for Aegon to hear he was right.

Aegon smirked, then tried his hardest to remember what he had been taught just twenty minutes before. "Yohr ahk tis lahk nahn iss uhn .. puhteenah un ahk kahn noo. Iss ahk tu nahk iss nu? Ihk nah iss ahk iss troon nahn nahk?" Nahknani taught him to say, 'Your leader is too afraid to fight and die for you. Will you die for this coward? Would you die like the last ones he sent?' The men around all heard and responded with confused faces. He continued, "Woon ahk ti nahn yoon cahssas ahn ahssahns, yoon ahk ahn spahh." 'Lay down your weapons and your life will be spared.'

No one looked more confused than JaHahn. _I could have fucked up the annunciation, but I said enough of it right for them to know._ They all stood, confused, but motionless. None dropped their weapons.

"You have all made your choice." Aegon said in Valyrian.

JaHahn stepped forward again, then back at the sounds he heard next. His face was caught in the shock from his brindled questions and the bewilderment of the surprise attack. Nahknani, the twins, Chekka, and Shevrohn descended upon his men from the darkness, steel in their hands, ending five of the motionless mens' lives before anyone knew what was happening. NeeNee fired an arrow through a sixth eye, as Shevrohn and Chekka slashed through one more each. The twins tackled the remaining two and stabbed them repeatedly. Aegon heard the slashing of flesh over and over again as JaHahn realized he was the only one left of his party meant to overwhelm his foe. Again, he was outmatched and outwitted by the smaller, weaker man before him.

His brow bent in a blind rage. His eyes burned with the sting of humiliation and defeat, and he lashed out at Aegon, swinging his short staffs in rapid succession as he took two leaps and was on him.

Aegon dodged to his left and swung the dirk as the larger, wilder attacker stumbled by him in a black blur of fury. It cut threw the meat underneath his ribs and the slice opened with a spray and a splatter. He dropped to a knee and turned, growling, his face twisted. He grunted something in his language, roaring curses most like. Then lunged back at Aegon with a quickness he didn't expect.

His foe launched himself like a pouncing lion, abandoning his staffs and leaping, his hands like paws, claws sharpened, directly into Aegon. He bounced back to avoid JaHahn, but he couldn't clear enough distance, and the Brindled Man bounded on top of him, clawing at his shoulders through the jahkyar cloak. Aegon coiled his legs as JaHahn reached his neck down, opening his massive muscular jaws. He snapped them close as Aegon kicked both legs to his midsection with all of the force he could muster. His feet landed just before JaHahn's teeth closed, and pushed the Brindled beast back enough to avoid a bite that would kill him.

He turned his head and tucked his chin as the jaws closed on the bunched skin around his closed eye. Any closer, and the fangs would have removed it, or ruined it forever. They only cut deep enough to leave a slash from just above his brow to below his lower lid. Blood filled his left eye as he tried to blink it out. The kick enough to give him space to swing the dirk again. He wouldn't kill him, only wound him, but he cut clear across his face with a forehand slash, and immediately swiped back across it with a back hand.

The blade nicked bone on the first slash, tore through a nostril on the second, and the three wounds, the one to his side and the two to his face, seemed to take enough of a toll for the warrior to collapse in pain, anguish, or gut-wrenching defeat. He rolled to his knees, covering his bleeding face, grunting like an injured buck, trying to crawl to the cliff.

Aegon pointed to Chekka who was closest to JaHahn's path, "Cut him off. Don't let him jump. He's not getting off that easy." Chekka slid over, the sword poised in both hands.

Chekka said, "Just give me a reason, I'll push this blade through the base of your skull."

Defeated, JaHahn collapsed from up on all fours to flat on his face and rolled onto his back. He spit a mouthful of blood out and looked around as if for a way out. He searched. Aegon's companions all gathered around him, closing in on him like a pack of wolves. No face was friendly. No allies alive. He could only submit or fight back. He relaxed his weight and laid back on the soft grass in the orange light of the fire. Shevrohn climbed over him and struck him hard with one of the fallen's long staffs. They couldn't kill him. Not until he talked.

Shevrohn and Chekka picked up his limp unconscious body and propped him up against the trunk of a nearby tree. They stretched his arms back, behind the tree, and wrapped a thick green vine around both wrists. It was flexible, still alive even, and wouldn't rip or break under extreme duress, only bend or twist. He could struggle and try all he liked, but he would never break free, especially after they tightened the wrists together, behind the tree, so tightly Aegon heard his arms break. They had placed his arms with the elbows to the tree. When they bent his arms together, they were bending back at the elbow against the trunk. The sound almost made him wretch.

They tied his legs similarly, Aegon thought he heard a hip pop. After the arms, JaHahn woke up with a loud whelp, and by now he was cursing and spitting at every movement the brothers made. He kept repeating the same line of his tongue, "Oo iss mahn shihknah?"

"The fuck is he saying?" Aegon asked Shevrohn while they were in between wrapping the vines around each ankle and tightening them together.

"He's saying, 'Where is my wife?' He's referring to Nahknani, I presume."

"I know. I'm aware of the arrangement." Aegon replied.

When he was fully bound and propped, the brothers broke each finger at every knuckle, to avoid him slashing at the vine with his claws. Apparently, it was just something you did when capturing and holding a Brindled Man captive. Luckily, the slavers missed that with Ootrahk's clan.

"He's ready for questioning, ser." Chekka said as if reporting to a superior officer.

 _Ser, huh?_ Aegon thought. _Funny I have risen so high in this world so quickly. He laughed in his head as he formulated his response._ "If I am to be your _Drahkness Kahn,_ ser is the wrong word. Since we say this in jest anyway, you will be the Ser. You will address me as 'Your Grace." Aegon didn't know the Valyrian translation for, "Your grace" so he taught it to Chekka in the common tongue. Chekka smiled at the part where he'd be a ser. "To be called, ser, you need to be a knight. Now that I am a king, I can officially knight you and from now on everyone will call you, ser. Shevrohn, give me your sword."

"If you two are finished playing games, we have a prisoner to question." Shevrohn replied while also handing over the sword.

"If you have any interest, Shevrohn, I will knight you as well. Besides, I was taught that questioning should begin after hours of waiting. Nothing is more painful than the wait." Aegon took the sword and held it vertically in front of him. "Chekka, kneel before me."

"If you talk to me like that, you can knight me," Shevrohn said.

"Don't spoil the moment, brother. Gawk in your own mind." Chekka said, kneeling in front of Aegon.

"Chekka of Ootrahk's clan, brother of Shevrohn,"

"Son of Trohmbo, the Trunk of a Tree," Chekka added, his face sincerely proud in their jest.

"Son of Trohmbo, the Trunk of a Tree, In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave," he said in the common tongue of westeros, a game he and Lem played in their youth. "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women. Fuck, I forget the rest, but Chekka, do you swear this before the eyes of Gods and men?"

"What gods? What men?" he said. Shevrohn laughed.

Shevroh directed his brother, "Idiot, you just have to agree with him."

"Fine, yes. I swear."

Aegon tapped him on the left shoulder with his sword, "Now rise, Ser Chekka of Sothroyos. Knight of the Seven Kingdoms."

He stood and received his cheers from the invisible crowd around him in his imagination, bowing and waving. Shevrohn scolded, "Stop it, idiot, you look a fool."

"No brother, I look a pink knight. Too bad you're no true king, pink one." He patted Aegon on his back with a heavy paw, jolting the pink man forward and forcing the air from his lungs in a cough.

_I am the rightful one._

Aegon knighted Shevrohn who surprisingly showed more sincerity in the ceremony than Chekka did. When he rose, he hugged Aegon, who hugged back, and when the two released, he stepped back to bow. "Thank you, your grace," he said, holding back a smirk.

"I've always wanted to be a knight," Aegon said as the three sat down close enough to JaHahn to monitor him, but far enough away that he couldn't hear most of what they were saying. He was tied to a tree in the far edge of the light of the fire. They sat around it on the opposite side of the glow.

The twins and Nahknani had broke away as they were tying JaHahn up to set up the tents back up. By the time they were all sitting near the fire, the twins were already back in the tent, and Nahknani just joined them, sitting in between Aegon's legs on the ground while he was on a short log slightly above her. The two brothers sat on their own makeshift seats, as the four sat mostly silent around the fire for a few minutes, the men still satisfied from their knighting game.

Nahknani finally spoke up, "You boys looked to be having fun. What the fuck were you all doing?"

"Have you ever heard of Westeros?" Chekka asked.

"No. Well, not until I met him."

"Ootrahk taught us when we were small about the knights in Westeros. Warriors in iron skin, tasked with defending women and the weak against beasts and villians. Your dragon king has knighted us and made us sers. From now on, I am Ser Chekka of Sothoryos." He smiled, looked up and away and held his right fist to the left side of his chest. Then he fell back in a burst of laughter.

"Okay," she said, rolling her word like a question, sounding confused and probably bending her eyebrow the way she did. Aegon couldn't see it, but he knew her.

"You were never taught of Westeros? Wouldn't you have been the same age as us when we left?"

"I don't even remember you all leaving. I was so young." She said.

Shevrohn jumped in, "It was five and ten years passed. We were all too young for what happened."

The woods cracked, breaking their conversation. They all looked into the darkness for clues, but the light from the flames only made the darkness that much darker around them. It was distant, but clear. And as they continued to listen, it kept getting closer and closer.

"Maybe we should think about putting this fire out," Chekka said. The fire would surely attract attention, Aegon knew, but they couldn't risk not having eyes on JaHahn. Broken and bloodied or not, if Aegon was in his shoes, he knew he'd eventually try an escape, and JaHahn looked as strong as any of the men he'd seen here. One can't be that big and muscular without having some strength. They had to keep watch.

The noise continued to get closer, "We can't put it out, we need eyes on JaHahn. Get your weapons ready, sers, we may need those knightly skills of yours."

"As you say, your Grace," Chekka said, standing and readying his blade.

"What the fuck is, 'Your Grace,'?" Nahknani said to Aegon. It sounded nice to hear her accent in the common tongue.

"I'll tell you later," he said, focused on the noise that continued to approach whishing and cracking through the dark brush beyond the orange glow.

They were all standing, readied with their weapons in hand. Aegon looked around, now the only one with short steel. He looked ridiculous holding the dirk out next to the larger Brindled Men with their longswords and Nahknani, who happened to have a long staff from one of JaHahn's dead guards. He didn't care though. Not only did he have history with it, but he had grown comfortable in the close combat situations and was starting to revel in the brutality of it.

The noise continued to gain ground consistently without any thought of hesitation or stealth. He thought it must be an animal of some kind. No human, brindled or otherwise, would be stupid enough to approach a lit fire as brazen and loudly. Well, maybe a slaver, but most likely not.

Also, it didn't sound as large as the gray back from earlier. Though tough to judge, Aegon guessed it would be half the size, if not smaller. So it wouldn't be a jahkyar, which only hunted by stealth. Or a riverlizard which was as big if not bigger than the gray back. So, would it be some kind of prey animal, a deer like thing territorial during mating season? Aegon wasn't too concerned. The noise was almost to the light. Then, he saw them.

Two eyes flickered in the glare of the fire just out of reach of the orange glow. _Could it be?_

The next moment, two longer front legs, shaggy and grey, bounded into the light. A doofus face followed shortly, bobbing up and down on a long shaggy spotted neck, its tongue hanging out of the side of its mouth as it ran. Nahknani jumped up immediately and ran to the animal only two of the four recognized.

"What in the knightly fuck is this?" Shevrohn asked as Nahknani ran over, dropped to her knees, and allowed the animal to jump up on its stubby back legs and lick her face with its front paws draped over her shoulders.

"Your sleeping with me tonight, boy. C'mon. Here, eat this." Nahknani said to Lem, feeding him a chunk of salted meat.

Aegon responded to Shevrohn, "The one she likes more than me."


	35. Chapter 35

35

The four rotated watch shifts through the night, though Nahknani didn't watch JaHahn for more than a few moments before retiring with Lem. It was Chekka, Shevrohn, and Aegon who took turns either sleeping or watching, two at a time to avoid boredom and a mistake.

Shevrohn and Chekka took the first shift, shortly after Nahknani retired to the smaller tent. Aegon tried to follow her, but she was so enthralled with the lost hahkyeen returned, she had little attention for him, and he returned to the fire, defeated.

Aegon took the first rest, closing his eyes in the calming warmth of the fire. He had taken a burning ember and pressed it against the cut on his eye, which closed the wound and healed it mostly, but the fire had a rejuvenating effect on his body as well. Tired and sore from battles and the journey, it was a welcome respite from the rigors of this place to lay basking in the warmth of the flames. He fell asleep in what seemed like mere moments.

When he woke, it was Shevrohn's turn to rest. He chose the tent for his, and Chekka asked for him not to arouse the twins in jest. "Just because I prefer men, doesn't mean I couldn't make them happy for a while," Shevrohn said, smirking at his brother. "Happier than you could."

"And how is that, brother." Chekka asked.

"Just talking, idiot. Or staying silent as I find my own spot to curl up into. I'm sure they'd be happier asleep than if you were to go in there poking them with your stick." Shevrohn turned with that last jest, yawned, then tiredly drudged toward and into the larger tent.

Chekka looked tired himself, but remained vigilant in his watch. He had a different air about him since being "knighted" as if he took the game or practice seriously. "Any stories to keep us awake, your grace?"

"What kind of stories are you interested in, ser?" Aegon asked.

"Have you ever fought in a tournament? The ones they ride horses with the long wooden horn into each other? Or have you ever fought in the pits, where the winner is shrouded in gold, his member sucked dry, and wine is poured directly into his mouth?"

"I've been to a joust, once, I believe, though it was more a training session than a full tilt. I have never ridden in one, save when I was a five year old child pretending." Aegon said, remembering one of the only fond memories of his time at Winterfell. "I've never seen the fighting pits, though. That is a Maraneese tradition, and I've only ever passed through Mareen as a rowman, not an esteemed captain or lord."

"I always wanted to be in a 'tilt' as you say or a battle in the pits. I've always wanted glory. Life seems too short to not leave behind a legacy of greatness. Whether it's as a lover, fighter, conqueror, or even just a father, I've always wanted glory and greatness." Chekka said, looking into the fire.

It was my own vain lust for glory that led me here. "I can relate, ser. But, there's no glory in tilts and fighting pits. Just momentary cheers from a mob, then in a day or two, all is forgotten."

"Yes," Chekka said, with a grin, his thick blocky face glowing orange in the faint light of the flames, "but for that one day, for those short moments, to hear the chants of a crowd would be surreal."

Aegon heard chants just a few days ago. He knew the feeling Chekka wanted. "What we do here, may be that moment for you, though we will have to survive to hear the chants."

"What are we even doing, your grace? I'm glad we killed those men and all, but we could have done that staying with the rest of our clan." Chekka said.

"Come the 'morrow, we'll ask JaHahn some questions that will help us better understand exactly what we're doing. All I know is I'm following my destiny." Aegon replied.

"All I know is I'm following my destiny," from behind them, Nahknani approached the fire mocking Aegon's last statement. Chekka giggled at the jest.

"What are you doing up?" Aegon asked, happy to see her.

"Lem started to snore so loudly, he woke me up and I couldn't get back to sleep."

"Come, sit, myself and his highness are just contemplating glory and legacy." Chekka said in a lordly manner. He was taking the knight thing very seriously, or took the joke very seriously.

"Sounds like it'll be easier to sleep here, then." She responded, sitting down in front of Aegon between his legs, grabbing one of his arms and holding it close to her. She leaned back into him and nestled into his chest with her auburn topped head and bit his arm gently.

"By the looks of it," Chekka said, gathering himself to stand, "I should give your graces some privacy. If you need me, I'll be in the larger tent, trying to rouse some pleasure of my own."

"Don't poke the wrong body, your brother's in there, and he might not stop you." Aegon said, holding back a chuckle.

Chekka rose to his feet and looked at Aegon saying, "Our eyes see better than yours, pink king, excuse me, your grace. I'll be able to tell who I'm prodding. Even so, I could tell by the smell."

"Your brother stinks, Chekka?" Nahknani asked.

"No, the twins do. They smell of the ocean and sweat. It's a smell I've never smelled before," he rubbed his hands together, "and I like it."

He turned and snuck into the larger tent, as Nahknani nestles further into Aegon's embrace, wrapping his other arm around her.

"I thought you were spending the night with Lem." He said.

"We still haven't finished from before," she said, turning to look up at him, her eyes twinkling in the orange glare of the fire.

JaHahn's tree rustled, he moaned, and both Aegon's and Nahknani's heads popped up alert and looked through the darkness to see what their captive was up to.

He jostled himself back and forth wildly, trying to break free, until all that were awake heard a loud crack. JaHahn screamed out in pain, holding the shriek for moment longer than Aegon thought would be normal, then spoke something in their language. He said something that sounded like, "Nani."

He continued calling out, ever so often evoking the name of the red headed woman in between Aegon's legs. "Should we see what he wants?" Aegon asked, standing up.

"Leave him. He means nothing."

"Still, we should check to make sure he cannot break free. It is the reason I'm up."

"He's not the reason I'm up, you are. Sit, stay away from him." Nahknani seemed like she didn't want Aegon to know what he was saying.

"Nani, I'm sure it's nothing, but I need to make sure he's secure. I will be right back."

"No, I'll go. You stay here."

"What is it that you don't want me to go over there?" Aegon asked, knowing that something else was going on.

She paused, as she did, looking away into the distance for a brief moment, then back into his eyes. "You told me you've never been with a woman. And for that, I think you all the more attractive. If you speak with him, he will tell you things that make me less."

"You've fucked him?" Aegon asked bluntly. He didn't say it with anger, though he could feel himself getting hotter. His heart was beginning to race, beating faster and harder. His face started to feel flush, like the flames had finally been able to warm him, but it wasn't the flames, it was jealousy.

"We've known each other, yes. Remember, we were betrothed. Before all this. Before I met you."

Aegon knew it wasn't rational to feel anger toward Nahknani, but he felt a blind passion building inside him, bubbling to into an irrational fury. For the first time in his life, he was beginning to feel that he had found someone to connect with beyond the base levels of attraction and lust. He had convinced himself that this relationship with a beast was worth it because of the mutual attraction each had to each other in a deeper meaning of the word. He had finally just come to terms with the idea of even thinking about Nahknani like that, feeling odd to kiss her. Now, his mind was steaming with the heat building up from his overworking heart.

He didn't know what to say or do, he was just standing there, looking blankly into the dead air between them. His eyes caught a glance of her face. She was bare again, like when they spoke after the kiss. She was open and vulnerable. Her expression sank to a desperate plea with her eyes to forgive a transgression he should have never been upset about. But he was. Though, as he looked at her, her eyes and mouth pitifully drooping down, he wanted to make it ok. He wanted to ease her apparent pain. Her silent shame.

He softened his own hard expression and stepped back toward her. She had stood up, and he met her with a firm embrace, holding her shoulders in an intense but gentle grasp. "I am upset, but not for good reason. I should not care about your past, but I do." He looked deep into her eyes, speaking softly and close enough to reach his head toward her and kiss. He reached up to her face, and held it gently in his right hand. "There is something very frightening in the way I look at you. The way I see you. I've never known anyone the way I'm getting to know you. And the way we kiss," he stopped and leaned into her lips with his. The same sparks ignited as they touched. His blood danced in his veins and his member began to stiffen. "I . . I . . I can't describe it."

"I feel it too." She said just as soft, looking into his eyes with a small tear in hers and a smile. "I'm sorry about my past. I was supposed to be his. I never knew any of this would ever happen. But I'm glad it did. When we first met, I just wanted to fuck you. Now that I know you more, I wish I never knew anyone else."

She leaned in starting another kiss. The two continued, Aegon not knowing if he was pissed or horny, and he slid his hands down the side of her frame, from her face, to her shoulders, to her hips, then reached around with his right arm, grabbing her ass and pulling her into him, tightly. She lifted her right leg and wrapped it around the small of his back, and thrust her pelvis into him, rolling it back and forth against him.

"You want me now?" She whispered into his ear.

He did, but not in front of her former fiancé tied to a tree behind them. He felt like he always had an excuse, but if he really felt strongly for her, differently, would he want it to be in the dirt in front of her bloodied former lover?

He back his head away to answer. "Yes, but not now. We are supposed to be keeping watch over him, not torturing him, . . yet." He smiled at his joke, but she lowered her leg back down, and almost forcibly pushed Aegon away and recoiled back into herself.

"When will you want me?" She said, just as softly, but with a sorrowful desperation. "There will always be a reason I repulse you. I know I'm not one of your pink girls, but will you ever want me like I want you?"

Her expressions always immediately evoked emotions from him, but not usually action. He thought on her words for a moment. Then, he thought on her culture. Her home. He was never going to get a chance to lay her gently down on a featherbed and cover her nakedness with sheer soft linens. He was never going to find a time where there wasn't danger just around every bush and tree trunk. Fuck, he thought, we could both die tomorrow.

"You're right," he said, grinning devilishly at her. For that moment, he drank her in. She was standing in between him and the fire, her back to the flames. As the sparks cracked behind her, sending up darting orange flares, the glow from the heat trimmed her auburn frame with a magical glow. The flicker of the light darted across her face and features, and the round full shapes that made up her femininity were highlighted and almost magnified in the warm soft glow. She looked as perfect as anyone had ever looked to him. Even the red woman.

He quickly and gruffly stepped to her, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her into the air. She leaned down to kiss him angrily, almost biting him as she wrapped her legs around his hips and her arms around his semi-singed head of hair.

He brought her down to the ground near the fire and dropped her there not hard enough to cause pain, but not gently either. As he stood back up and unlaced the strings of his breeches, she looked back up at him, biting her lip and grinning from ear to ear with that evil grin. Her eyes were wide, and shimmered next to the flames. She untied her vine wrap from behind her and wriggled it off of her as he pulled off his boots off and pulled down his pants.

His member full erect, she popped up to a sitting position and grasped at it. Her face looked as it would say, "Finally," as she beheld his cock, caressing it with both hands, inspecting it with that same evil grin still stretched from ear to ear. "Your bigger than him," she said. "Much."

"Just shut your mouth and unwrap your pussy." He lowered himself to his knees and shoved her back down to the forest floor. She giggled, and slid a bit away from him and spread her legs. Her sex was still covered with the vine wraps, but not for long, as she slid each layer around her, sensually and slowly, closing her legs to hide her treasure as it was revealed. She wasn't as hairy as Aegon thought she would be, the glowing auburn hair thin and short in soft locks around her area, and her legs were covered in red that felt more like the top of her head than the pelt of an animal. It thinned up to her pelvis until it was smooth, soft pale skin. She wiggled back and forth to pull the rest off and crossed her legs covering herself. Then he looked into her eyes. "You want me now?" she whispered.

He crawled to her, and on her, kissing her as he rested his body down into her. She kept her legs closed, and his member hung down below him, placed intentionally above where her legs hid her opening. He kissed her, propping himself up above her with both hands on the forest floor, his body pressed against her.

He broke away from her lips and began kissing her lower. Her chin. Her neck, sucking and biting at the pale flesh. Her collarbone. The top of her breast. Her nipple, flicking it first with his tongue, then sucking on it gently. The bottom of her rib cage. Her navel.

Then he sat back up and reached down to her crossed legs. He traced the side of her legs with his hands, slid softly down to where they were crossed, where each inner thigh met, covering her opening, and pulled them apart, deliberately, but with care. She pushed back against him as he opened them, trying to hold them closed just slightly. She giggled as he pushed them open harder, then she let go and they flew wide open. The wet glistening lips of her pussy seemed to glow as she revealed it in the light of the flames.

His dick had never been harder, but something drew his mouth toward it. The smooth pink wetness between her thighs beckoned him in, and he met her lips with his again, landing soft but firm kisses, smacking his lips at the top of her opening where he was taught by a harbor girl to play. He had never done what he was doing before, but from what he'd heard from Lem's conquests, he knew enough, or so he thought.

In truth, he thought very little, other than his animal mind thinking yes and his eyes drinking in her exceptional beauty. His heart and blood mixed his emotions between a loving bliss and a hungry thirst, but everything felt right. Especially the soft slick skin of her lower lips.

As his tongue traced up and down near the top of her opening, her body began to writhe in extasy. She moaned sounds and words he'd never heard. Once she moaned "Drahkness Kahn," but he assumed that was for his benefit. He kept going. She kept writhing, and the world around them seemed to all but fade away.

Her moans increased in frequency, moaning shorter and quicker. He matched them with shorter and quicker licks, until her back arched, her limbs stiffened, and she seemed to be holding her breath in. Then her body quivered, shaking like she was cold, and she dropped. Her body relaxed and she let out her breath with a long but quiet sigh.

He had never been harder, as he climbed up back into position to enter. He lifted up one of her legs and brought it up to his shoulder as he slid his hips towards hers. He felt her wetness with his tip, and slid gradually into her. She exhaled as he stretched deeper into her. Then she called out loudly when he pushed deeper still. The feeling inside of her was better than he imagined, as the skin around his shaft clung to him with a warm wet friction. He pulled back and pushed into her again, soliciting another moan that mixed with a deep laugh as she smiled and moaned, "Yes," looking into his eyes with a thirst of her own. "Yes," she kept saying with every thrust into her. "Yes, yes, there. Ooooo yeess!"

He pumped as far as he could into her each time, savoring the warm tingle building around his shaft each time he pushed in. Her pussy was soaked and slippery, but his tip still dragged against her walls, sliding in and out with such ecstasy, he couldn't hold himself in much longer.

She felt him begin to pulsate and ordered, "Finish in me, now."

He did. The rush seemingly flowing from the bottom of his toes. No, the bottom of his soul, as he pushed deep into her, holding her soft body tightly into his with one arm behind her head and the other gripped crushingly around the cheek of her ass. He pumped his hips as he finished, kneading into her with the last of his stiffness, trying to extend this last bit of pleasure.

When he was done, he rolled off and out of her, lying next to her, and looking into the dark canopy. The light bugs twinkled in the distance, seemingly so far away as he laid in the pool of his own euphoria, still somewhat numb to the world beyond the beautiful eyes and thick luscious features of Nahknani's body.

He reached out for one of her breasts, cupped it in his hand, and rolled toward her. Her flesh was warm, soft. He could feel her heart racing beneath his fingertips. He could feel his own heart pumping fast and faster as well.

She turned to him and smiled, brushing a brown lock of his brow. "That was quick," she said, smiling evily.

"Was it good?" He asked. She changed her expression from evil to adoring.

"That's so cute. You care?" She asked.

"Anything I do, I want to be the best at it."

"Oh so you don't care if I liked it, you just want to be able to boast?" She asked, curling the brown lock with her finger.

"No. I do care." He said softly. She smiled at that and laid down, nestling underneath his arm.

"It was perfect." She said.

"You're welcome." He laughed in his head. She seemed to as well, but they were both too far away to do much more than smile.

Their world was just the two of them, lying naked in the glow of the flames, both looking into the light bug lit canopy as they danced for them in smooth circles. A rustle from elsewhere woke them up from their bliss.

Shevrohn yelled to them, "You two done?"

They remained silent for a moment, waiting for the other to answer then both replied with, "Yes," softly and in unison. Aegon thought it was cute.

Shevrohn stepped to them and neither moved to cover their nakedness. He looked at their faces with anguish on his own and cried, "Where is the prisoner?"

Fuck.


	36. Chapter 36

36

"He can't be far. Split up in groups of two, I'll set out on my own. When we find him, subdue him, but try not to kill him." Shevrohn ordered, taking control of the search. Not only was Aegon somewhat to blame for the prisoner escaping on his watch, there was a suspicion among the others in their group that it was someone else's intention to either allow or facilitate the escape.

"Who will watch his wife? She's likely to warn him of our approach," Chekka said, referring to Nahknani who Chekka and the twins were blaming. "It's the only reason she'd sleep with a tiny pink man like him. To distract him from his watch."

Aegon responded sternly, "Watch your tongue. I was with her the whole time. She did not do this."

"How do you know? You were love drunk since she slithered to the fire. Where was she before that? She freed him and told him to wait for the moans."

The twins sided with Nahknani, though Aegon didn't understand what they said. Chekka's face reddened, and replied in anger in their tongue.

Shevrohn intervened in Valyrian, "She was fit to fuck him before we made camp, before the gray backs. It is their fault he's gone, but out of negligence and stupidity, not intentional sabotage."

For minutes, the squabbling continued as Aegon tried to come to terms with the situation in his own mind. He had begun to develop a friendship with Chekka, though still in its fragile early stages. The Brindled Brother didn't necessarily mean to say anything other than what he thought was his truth, though slightly offensive. His thought had some merit though, as he was the only other one there.

_She did come out of the darkness to the flames as silently as if she was sneaking. Whose to say she didn't free him? She also kept me from checking on the noises we heard. Was that to allow her former lover to escape?_

On the other hand, Nahknani had been attracted to him since they'd met. The timing of when they came together was more on Aegon's now willingness to do so, than an opportune moment for a treasonous spy. Like Shevrohn said, there was no secret that Nahknani wanted him. And as Aegon thought about the moments before everything happened, he thought about the things they said, and the looks she'd given him. Was she manipulative? Sure, but when she opened up to him, not just before they laid together, but even before, there was honesty in her eyes. She truly felt for him.

"Stop it, all of you. This is my blunder, not hers. I was on watch. I allowed Chekka to rest and the responsibility to guard him was mine and mine alone. Once and for all, I will ask Nani to speak her truth and you judge her answers to come to your own understanding." Aegon said, blurting through the rabble and shifting focus from whom to blame to the more important task of finding the prisoner.

"Nahknani, did you set the prisoner free?" He asked.

"No. I would never. If he reaches anyone from his clan, we and the rest of our clan could surely die. Yes, I once laid with him, but so did the twins, if I remember correctly. Why aren't they to blame?"

"Stop," Aegon said, "before we blame anyone else, let's just come to terms with the fact that he is gone and we were all ignoring him. Five were asleep, as you were all in the tent together and Neenee was in the trees. Nani and I were fucking near the fire. None of us helped him escape." _I think._

"What is important now," Aegon continued, "is that we find him. He cannot have gone far. Hopefully Lem,"

"Who," Chekka asked.

"The dog, idiot," Shevrohn replied.

"Lem," Aegon trudged on, ignoring the brothers. "can hopefully find his scent. He's not trained to do so, but I've seen common dogs used for the same thing. Also, Shevrohn can help track him. You said you are a good tracker, yes?"

"Yes, but in this darkness, it will be near impossible."

The twins spoke up in their tongue to the group. They all began to respond back in forth in varying lengths of sentences. Nahknani quickly translated the important bits, saying, "The twins can also help, they too can find his scent. If we all work together, we should be able to find the path he took and catch him before he reaches anyone that can help him."

"Good. Get Lem. Let's get to work."

Aegon could tell the group, which was still groggy from being roused mid sleep, and angry at their pseudo leader. The twins seemed jealous, as they too wanted him sexually. Chekka seemed jealous too. He'd spent most of his adult life in exile with only men. He thought this was his chance to sleep with a woman too, or women, but it was his grace getting the action from the most beautiful woman of their kind. Shevrohn wasn't jealous, he was irate, though he tried to subdue it. Watching a prisoner is a simple task. Simple enough that Chekka could do it. He verbalized the stupidity in sending Chekka to bed if they meant to fuck. "You should have told him to stay on watch while you did what you had to do. It couldn't have taken more than a half of an hour." Aegon only replied to him with, "I didn't know we would go there."

Shevrohn responded, anger still wrenching his face, "How? We all did."

Neenee stayed mostly silent. She didn't know Valyrian, and even when the group spoke in their tongue, she stayed mostly in the background of the bickering. Her sober face seemed to be waiting for the inevitable task. As Aegon grew to know her, she never talked about things. She did them. And as the rest of their group readied themselves to search, she stood waiting, already prepared for whatever action need be done.

They gathered around the tree they tied him to and searched for answers with make shift torches held dangerously close to leaves and tree branches. _If the rest would survive, they could just set the whole forest ablaze. Then, I could find him. Or the fire would._

JaHahn's arms were bent and broken. His hips seemed to pop out of socket when they stretched him around the trunk. He couldn't have gone far, but his feet were not bloodied. There would be no blood trail, save for a random bits from the cut near his ribcage, but it was the ground Shevrohn searched for tracks and disturbed foliage. The twins and Lem were smelling. The twins more than Lem, who yelped excitedly at the new game they were all playing. He didn't get it.

Suddenly, Shevrohn hooted at the sign of something. "Here," he said. "He must've gone this way."

The twins agreed. They spoke in their tongue, but the nods from their heads as they began to answer the question, "Is he right?" said all Aegon needed to hear.

With a torch for each of them, they set out in groups of two, save Shevrohn on his own. They didn't trust Nahknani and Aegon together, so they split them up. Nahknani went with Neenee. Chekka with Trihknah. Aegon with Trihknee. They followed the edge of the cliff where JaHahn's path and scent seemed to follow, but they spread out to cover as much ground as they could as a group.

Aegon followed Trihknee's lead, though she skulked through the brush much lower to the ground. It seemed she spent half the search on all fours, sniffing the ground and air for clues of his trail. The forest was dark around them. He could only see the four feet around them and the other torches off flanking them. Aegon looked into the canopy and noticed yellow orbs blinking back at him. They seemed to be a smaller tree monkey, but he could only see their eyes. There were seemingly hundreds of them, all intently watching him, like an optical illusion, still focused on him no matter where he moved through the forest below them.

Here and there the forest sounded in the abyss beyond the orange glow from their torches. Twigs snapped. Leaves rustled. But all the sounds seemed unimportant. They needed to find their captive, for the sake of the clan, but also for his own sake. How could he still be the Drahkness Kahn after such an irresponsible blunder? Especially if JaHahn were to reach reinforcements.

Minutes stretched into an hour, as the search continued. Along the way there were shouts from the torches in the distance either finding something or thinking they did. The progress was slow, but still quicker than the armless legless thing that JaHahn must be now. So, where was he?

Aegon began to realize, as time continued to wane past them, two competing truths. One, that as sunrise approached, the prospect of a lit forest seemed a relief spending so much time fighting through the thick dark. But the other, the more ground they searched, the closer they were to the slavers old camp.

Upon their departure from the exploding boat battle, Aegon wasn't sure if the slavers had all left the camp or not. If some stayed and JaHahn reached them, any number of terrible fates awaited. Aegon thought to ask Shevrohn multiple times during the search, but he was too far to communicate to. He only had Trihknee, who only knew to talk about the sex he had with Nahknani, or the sex she continued to offer for herself.

In the distance, he heard an excited commotion from one of the torches. He and Trihknee looked and turned to each other. They didn't need to say a word, and moved toward the noises. Trihknee got on all fours and bounded through the dark. Aegon followed close behind her, or as close as he could wondering _How does she keep the torch from igniting the ground_ and avoiding low branches, thick brush, and the occasional root.

As they grew closer, they could start to hear the voices. It sounded like Chekka and Trihknah, calling out in the Brindled Tongue. "What are they saying?" Aegon asked the twin in front of him.

"I don't be knowing to say this. Come fast." Trihknee said in broken Valyrian.

The rest of the torches drew nearer as well, seemingly all about to converge on the same point. Aegon and Trihknee were the furthest away, reaching the point last.

"He's here, near death. I tripped over him," Chekka said with a laugh and a smile. His body was lying face down on the forest floor, his gnarled arms twisted in an unnatural way. Shevrohn flipped him over, gruffly, and spoke to him in their tongue.

Neenee held her torch down toward his face to illuminate it. Her long arm stretched so close to his face, he grimaced away slowly from the heat. He mumbled something inaudibly, which Shevrohn replied with a kick to his side. A yelp, like Lem's, erupted from the broken man's mouth, followed by a brindled word, a cough, and the rest of a short brindled sentence. His voice was more breath than sound, as he struggled to do much more than barely breathe.

Nahknani slunk around Neenee and next to Aegon, gripping his hand with hers and pulling herself into him. "I did not do this. But I did not heed your warning either. I am sorry, my love," she whispered. He felt a warm flush course through his veins. The translation for "my love" in the Valyrian he knew, was more a term of endearment like, "Dear," or, "Sweetling," in the common tongue, but it sounded sincere and sweet in her thick brindled accent. "I am sorry for anything having to do with him."

Shevrohn continued to interrogate JaHahn as he lied in a growing pool of his own blood, shaded in the amber glow of the torches, his eyes almost too heavy to open at all. Certainly too heavy for him to open fully, as his eyelids seemed to quiver between closed and half raised.

Aegon whispered back to Nahknani, "Be sorry for nothing. I am both glad we laid together and not upset of what you had once did before me. I should have still checked on the noise, but after, I would have still come over and taken you."

With the last bit of his energy, JaHahn sat up and cursed at the two of them in their tongue. His desperate facial expression from earlier turned even more pitiful and defeated. He seemingly sobbed, as he spit out the rest of his curse, only to fall back down to the floor with another yelp.

"What did he say?" Aegon asked.

"He cursed his wife a harlot and threatened the wrath of the Great Chahka on you both. He says you've ruined him, taken everything from him. He pleas to kill him now, he will only say what he's already told us," Shevrohn said.

"What did he already say." Aegon asked.

"He told us where he was going. Who was there. And what their plan is." Shevrohn replied. "You seem to have been right again, though you were still a fool in this."

"I can get him to speak, your grace." Chekka said, looking down at JaHahn. "What do you want him to say?"

"He seems close to death. How bad is he, Shevrohn?" Aegon asked.

"He will soon die. He knows it too, that's why he's said what he's said. He just wants the shame to end." Shevrohn replied. His tone had softened again towards Aegon. Whatever JaHahn said must have corroborated Aegon's beliefs.

"So, we can't move him?" Aegon asked. "I mean to take him alive. Where I'm from, you keep the family of your enemies close to force them into concession. If we keep him alive, we can use him for a token to trade with, or a hostage to command obedience for."

"Just like his father did with my mother," Nahknani injected with some malice in her tone.

"Yes, but he's more likely to die if we move him. Best finish questioning him here now. Or stop to heal him." Shevrohn said.

"Kill me. Do not heal me. I've been shamed enough already. My father will not treat for me," JaHahn said in Valyrian, broken as it was, "just end me. Nothing you do will be worse than what he would do if I were to return the loser again."

"What more can you tell us? If this is how your father would treat you for risking your life for his purposes, why protect him or his plans?" Aegon asked the man directly.

"His plans are for himself alone. He believes the best will prove themselves. My younger brother already has. It was up to me to finally end your uprising. 'Surely you can defeat a pink man,' he said. 'And if you don't, all the same. Better to not have you ruining my legacy."

"What are his plans with the slavers? Where did they sail when the left east? What are they trying to mine?"

"What do the slavers ever want?" He asked, coughing and spitting up blood. His sliced face gruesome to look upon.

"Slaves." Aegon said gravely as all watched the exchange, their eyes fixated on the enemy on the ground.

"He looks to enslave all the Brindled Men. Every man, woman, and child save his select favorites. He's even turned on our own clan, promising false lands and titles to those willing to work freely. That was the first round. The rest, he had them all rounded up and put under with the yellow flower. They woke up chained and on boats."

"Where are they being taken?" Shevrohn asked.

"They're being brought to the mines at the base of the fire mountain. The slavers keep running out of pink men and black men down there, too weak. They need stronger, harder slaves to mine what they need."

"What are they mining for?" Chekka asked. Behind him, Nahknani was translating to the twins and Neenee. All were relatively amazed at how easy he was telling them everything.

"I don't know," Chekka kicked JaHahn in the rib where he'd been cut.

"Tell me what they're mining for!" Chekka roared.

"Enough, Chekka. Good ser," Aegon smiled in the light of the torch. "Your strength is much appreciated, though unnecessary. A simple follow up question should do just as well. We don't want to kill him, yet."

JaHahn rolled in agony, spit blood and replied, "You will kill me. Won't you?"

"Why not live and see your father fall? Why not assume rule of his people?" Aegon asked.

"I'd rather die than betray him. There is only one thing worse than a loser. And that's a traitor."

"Your terms are agreeable and honorable. Answer all of our questions and we will grant your final wish." Aegon almost admired the man. In truth, he was no different than many other sons. He was following the orders and ways of his father. Taught from a young age, the man broken below him was more honorable than his father would ever be. There was something very chivalrous in his pleas for death. The shame of defeat too much, he wanted an honorable send off. Aegon would be happy to oblige.

His strength waning fast, they peppered him with more questions about the specifics of the numbers JaHarle controlled, the size of the slavers host, and the locations of all troops, supply depots, and the mines. JaHahn obliged them with all he could, even going as far as to add additional bits when he wasn't directly asked. When Aegon asked him, at the end, why give him everything, a tear began to form in his sliced open eye.

"Despite my actions, I want to ensure my wife's safety." He looked up at Nahknani and spoke to her in their tongue. She coldly glared back, apathetic to his words and current state. He walked over next to Aegon, in front of JaHahn and kneeled down to his eye level. She responded to his plea in her own words, in her tongue. Her syllables hissed and sizzled, like venom or dripping wildfire, seemingly burning through his ears as he heard them, almost audibly moaning. The harshness of her words must've matched her tone, as the understanding on-lookers twisted their own faces hearing them.

She switched to Valyrian, saying, "And as for your wish, you don't deserve it. Your shame is not from the sins against your father. Your shame is from the sins against my people. You tried to have me believe that every time you laid with another girl I used to play with, or another distant cousin, that they were yours by right. That you earned it in battle. That it built the strength of our community for all the women to know you as I did. When I was first promised to you, I was only a child. You molded me into your bed slave, yet still raped and fucked anyone who caught your glance for even the slightest moment. You beg for my forgiveness. I had it easy. Your father taught you never to lay your hands on me, only your dick. You need beg for _their_ forgiveness. All the girls who you forced yourself upon. All the women you beat in front of me because you _couldn't touch me._ All the men you and your family ripped away from their lives, just so you and your father could pluck us like ripe fruit, those are the ones whose forgiveness you seek. They, I promise you, do NOT forgive you. Or your fucked up family."

JaHahn tried to respond, stuttering. She turned quickly toward Aegon, unsheathed the dirk from his hip and plunged it down into his pelvis. He roared as she rotated it around, then pulled it out. Aegon reached for Nahknani as the beast on the floor reached for her neck. The three all tumbled together on the ground in the darkness, the two torches falling into the crumbling dry brush of the floor. The others raced to stamp it out as the dying man snapped his jaws at the air around and in between the three of them.

Aegon pushed Nahknani away, and rolled away from JaHahn. He felt the spill of something on his chest. The dirk nicked him deep unintentionally as they rolled. He still couldn't see it, but he could feel it start to burn. _Still sharp._

He reached around for Nahknani, found her face and she gripped his wrist with both hands. "Hurry, bring the light over here," he called out.

They did and held it down to see where JaHahn was. For the briefest of moments, they all thought that he had somehow disappeared again. He didn't. He had just rolled a bit further down the slight hill.

He had nothing left, spending the rest of his energy on the counter attack. The rest of his vital blooded spilled from the wound in his lap, a misshapen representation of butchered meat, and he laid there, lifeless, his eyes open and his mouth and brow twisted in anger.

Trihknah turned to Nahknani and said in Valyrian, "Well said."

After a quick debate about what to do with the body, they begrudgingly decided to dump his body off the nearest cliff. It wasn't too near. By the time he, Chekka, and Shevrohn returned to the clearing they decided to resettle, the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon. They unceremoniously dumped him over to the eerie whistle from the wind off the crags, and the thunk as he splashed down into the water below. "In your lands, is this considered a proper burial, your grace?"

"No ser, we did not promise that. We promised him death. May the gods do with him what they will."

When they returned, the women were all back asleep. Lem too, curled up next to Nahknani, a pelt pulled off of her and draped over him.

"Join her," Chekka said to Aegon, looking longingly at both the empty space next to Nahknani and the empty space between the twins. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I was burning with anger."

"Apology accepted, good ser. I myself am sorry for letting him escape in the first place."

"Your grace," he bowed, accepting the apology. "I would have said, 'Fuck it,' and fucked Nani-"

"Don't call her that," Aegon quickly growled.

"My apologies, your grace. Nahknani. I would've fucked her too. By the way. How was it?"

"You mean how was she? To be honest, I'd rather not talk too much about it. It's private." Aegon said, shyly. He almost felt himself blush. Then he thought of Lem. Aegon would ask him that in a very similar way after his conquests. The difference was Lem was more than willing to tell, in great detail, all and everything he did.

"I mean. . . how was, it? You know. How was it at all? I've never had a woman. Was it all it's said to be?"

"That and more, good ser. That and more."

The three retired, Chekka and Shevrohn to the larger tent, Aegon to the smaller tent after a few more chuckles at the expense of each other. Aegon thought _it is good to have friends again._

He crawled next to Nahknani, shoving Lem over the best he could. For such a compact fellow, Lem could take up space sleeping. He was also five times harder to move asleep than awake, but Aegon managed to find a spot close to Nahknani and nestled into her, wrapping his arm around her. She mumbled, turned, and laid her head back down, murmuring something in her sleep. Aegon gently slid his fingers through some stray red hair and brushed it back behind her ear. He thought he could see her smile and he rested his head down and closed his eyes.


	37. Chapter 37

37

He slipped into meaningless dreams, sleeping peacefully. Recovering. After a few dreams he couldn't remember, it was night and dark around him on the middle of a choppy sea. The wind howled around him and his first mate, as they covered their faces from the gusts with their sleeves, walking from the deck to the ladder below. Lem climbed down first laughing. Aegon always followed chivalry whenever he could, "Ladies first," he yelled to his first mate.

"If there's a lady down there worth fucking," he yelled back through the roar of the wind, "I'll gladly go down. . . first." He laughed, though Aegon couldn't hear it as he descended rung by rung, but he could still see the face he made. The face Lonely Lem always made at his jests.

They reached below deck and discussed the wares aboard _Strong Winds_ with Wet Wendy, Harwin Snow's Inventory Official, or so she called herself. Anything was better than Wet Wendy. Lem turned to his captain. "I thought there was a woman fit to fuck down here?" Elbowing Harwin and laughing at Wendy.

"With the lot of you sots, I'd say anything wet and warm'll do." Harwin wasn't into backstories much, as a captain. "Your past is the only possession you keep to yourself on this ship. Everything else we split." He used to say. All he knew of Wendy was that she was probably from the Iron Islands based on her accent, poor manners, and ease with a rope and sail.

"What can we lose if this storm becomes too rocky, my sweet flower," Aegon asked Wendy, flattering her despite the warts on her face and missing teeth.

"You won't like it the least bit, but nothing we have on board is expendable. If my count's right, and all I've done all day is fucken' count, we won't be none the richer if we lose as much as a sack o' fucken' wheat. I'd say lose the gold, the heaviest fucken' thing down here, but then you'd say-"

"I'd say, 'Then-" Aegon cut her off to say.

Only to be cut off by Wendy and Lem in unison, "What's the fucking point?"

"Exactly. So, then we'll have to shed some crew then," Aegon said in jest.

"You laugh, but if this storm breaks the way it looks, something might have to go. Best we have a plan for it." Lem said.

Harwin Snow had become a greedy bastard. "You decide, Wendy. Whichever of these cunts you think deserves to swim, just say the word and they'll be the ones to go over, until then, let's just make sure we stay clear of that storm."

Wendy set her parchment down on a nearby desk and began to go over the scratched shorthand she used for the count. If Wendy knew any better, she could have been cheating them all out of half the lot, but treachery was not in her nature. Crass, crude, even nasty at times; yes. These were all part of her core values, but deceit, lies, thievery; Wendy was as well built for these as she was for court. She looked up from her pages for a moment. _The moment._ Aegon saw her face. The expression.

When they climbed below deck, though windy, the storm was still off some ways in the distance. Speaking with Wendy only took a mere ten, fifteen minutes at longest. In the dream, the moment slowed. As the ship shook and the sound of a million splinters cracked, Aegon watched Harwin and thought _how?_

As the memory continued to play around him slower than real time, each moment ticking by in the span of a held breath, he continued to ponder. _How was the ship destroyed? It wasn't the storm. The sound rang loud in his ears like the boat battle. The shards flew in every direction the same too. Was his boat destroyed with the same type of weapon? Was I supposed to be murdered twice over by this new explosive threat?_

"You're beginning to ask the right questions, Aegon," a voice said behind him. A familiar voice. A sultry one.

"What is the meaning of all this?" His dream mind asked, as the red woman stepped into the slow-moving scene around him, the memory fading around her as she trapesed through it, scantily clad in the sheerest of red silk and hard erect nipples poking through it.

"You know near as much as you need, but not all has yet been revealed. For this, I say to you, I'm so sincerely sorry. I'm sorry for my transgressions. I'm sorry for your losses. I'm sorry for the things you've made. The things you've built. And I'm sorry for the dreams you've lost forever. Though much will change in the coming days and weeks, this is only your beginning. Long after my part in your story has been opened and shut, your pages will continue to turn. Do not let the fear from your past keep you from fulfilling your future. The world needs you, Aegon Velaryon, though it may never know your name."

He struggled to think, still shrouded in sleep, and not fully in control of his consciousness. He moved toward her, seemingly through the thickest of air. His arms and legs only inched forward, as if they too were stuck in the time slowing. She glanced him up and down, to his surprise, and began to retreat away from him, slowly but still quickly enough to remain out of his grasp. He wasn't reaching to hurt her or grab her, just to sense if she was real. To engage her. To stop her from leaving. He was trying to speak, but couldn't, his throat and jaw stuck in the thick tar of the slowness he was engulfed by.

"I leave you with this. Never doubt what was said. Have you not already been raised as a Dragon King? Continue on your path. Defeat the slavers and stop this man made fire. This world is not ready for men to have the power of the gods."

She evaporated away into a mist and was gone.

Aegon woke up. The sun had reached its peak and he could see its silhouette through the sheer fabric of the tent, like woven silk, but beaded strands. The brindled people said it was the silk of a type of spider on their island, but it sounded as real as the story of the giant god ape that ruled the continent. He crawled out into the light to see he was the first awake, save Lem, whose nose was in one of their packs, chewing.

"Whose shit are you eating," Aegon asked but still walked over to obtain the answer for himself. It was Chekka's. "He's the only one that would probably eat you." Lem looked back at Aegon, his eyebrows raised. "If I let him."

The hahkyeen swallowed the bit of food in its mouth and crept back over to Aegon, ramming into his legs with his shoulder and sliding down as if to be pet.

"I missed you, boy." Aegon said, rubbing the once lost pup. Maybe even twice lost. He was loyal though. As loyal a friend as Aegon ever had. As Harwin ever had.

Aegon opened up his own pack and fed Lem the remainder of his salted fish. He refused to call whatever it was "salt fish" because this was much better than anything he ever forced himself to eat. "Salt fish" implied a bit of grimacing while ingesting. This didn't even take much effort to chew. Lem deserved it though, and he ate it in three gluttonous chomps.

The hahkyeen sat back again on his haunches panting for more from Aegon's pack. "If I give you too much more, you'll force us into hunting, wasting time. You have to be mission oriented." When Aegon spoke to Lem, especially when it was just the two of them, he spoke to him in the common tongue, as he did with his human counterpart.

Footsteps approached behind him. He turned to see Chekka, stretching and yawning his huge carnivorous mouth. Then he asked Aegon, "Who the fuck are you talking to?"

"This fucker here, ser." Aegon responded, pointing to Lem.

"Do all pink people talk to animals as people?" He asked.

Aegon thought _most pink men would think of talking to you as talking to an animal. And yes, from horses, to pigs, and especially dogs, pink people talk to animals like people._ "Yes. In fact, as I think about it, we all do. Valyrians especially. It's said we had mental links with our dragons."

"You had a dragon? Where is it now?"

"No, not we, like me and them. We like, my Valyrian ancestors."

"We means with you too though, right?" Chekka asked, puzzled. His Valyrian was good, but he wasn't confident speaking it to a purpled eyed pink man.

"Yes. Let's move on. All pink men speak to animals this way."

As the rest of the group rose to a day half gone, they packed up their encampment and gathered seated around Shevrohn and Aegon with a parchment. Shevrohn drew out all the locations and landmarks to show the best map they could produce with the information the previous night from JaHahn.

According to his dying son, JaHarle had condensed his forces into his own personal guard of fifteen of his best warriors, armed with steel and Astapori shields, a secondary force under the control of Zlatan and the slavers around thirty to forty men, and the group of men sent with him that Aegon and his group had already put down. The rest of JaHarle's clan had already been transported to the mines for work assignment.

As for the slavers' forces, he knew much less but not nothing. He knew of three major outposts they were taking up camp and rotating through looking for the Brindled people that fled the orders to report for slavery. Who could blame them? And according to JaHahn, there was a lot that decided to flee.

Zlatan controlled a total of five-hundred or so slave soldiers throughout the seven clans, as well as his personal guard of loyal free soldiers, those sworn to his house or sellswords JaHahn didn't know, but they weren't the typical Slaver's Bay slave soldier. They were free men, and were treated as such. They stayed with him constantly, about twenty strong, but JaHahn had heard that some of them might have been lost in the battle on the bay.

The hardest, yet most important part of the map they were drafting was their destination, the mines. Even Shevrohn could only guess at how far and where abouts they were, himself admittedly completely ignorant to the lands passed the river delta. There were two mines very close to one another. One mine was a bat cave, where slaves collected bat droppings and siphoned out a sparkling powder that was then collected and stored.

This was one of the three essential ingredients, JaHahn said. The slavers called it "salt peter." Though disgusting, their regular pink and tan slaves could survive in this task. That was not where Zlatan was headed. It was organized and run by one of his subordinates, a new man JaHahn had never met. When asked why not, JaHahn replied, "Why would we? The Brindled Men have nothing to do with the bat cave."

Zlatan needed them for the yellow mine. He needed them all. It was the one ingredient they always needed more of, and the dangers it imposed on those that mined it made it almost impossible to accumulate fast enough. With the Brindled Men they had already used, more was being mined every day, but the job was still too harsh and the workload still crippled or killed some of the brindled people who were forced to work it. Zlatan meant to clear the entire mountain if he could. Since starting to use Brindled Men, he'd already harvested more of the yellow powder in one week than he had in four moons with pink slaves and he only lost four of the eighty Brindled slaves. He lost every pink one in less than a moon.

As they strategized together, the seven of them, switching back and forth between Valyrian and their tongue, the beginning of a plan began to take shape. Of all the locations they knew, there was one that seemed most vulnerable. Zlatan's men were focused on rounding up Brindled Slaves, not Aegon and his band of rebels. Slave soldier search parties were mostly concentrated south of their groups current location and they felt they had little chance meeting one accidentally. JaHarle and Zlatan were currently on the move, Zlatan in the ships they all saw leave after the battle, and JaHarle on foot with his guard and another group of Brindled Slaves. So, their personal guard, as well as the main slave forces that followed Zlatan, were all headed in the same direction with a great head start.

No one was looking for them. Not anymore, at least. JaHahn's party was meant to find Ootrihk and the women thinking Ootrahk's Brindled Warriors dead along with Aegon. They could travel mostly impeded until reaching much closer to their intended destination. Except one final battle in a familiar place. Their most vulnerable outpost.

Strategically, the river mouth needed to be manned by some of the slave soldiers to allow for easy passage back to Slaver's Bay. The ports at Zamettar were good enough to house provisions and wares for the journey home, as well as a base to organize goods and slaves before shipment.

But according to JaHahn, Zlatan was told by a witch that his fire boat display had worked and killed all his enemies. He grew confident, lax even, and left a mere twenty slave soldiers lead by one of his elder uncles to guard the port. There were boats there, supplies, weapons, and best of all; food. All they need to execute was one more well timed sneak attack. It had worked for them each time before. Why change the winning formula?

They knew the terrain and the layout. They knew the positioning of the forces and the times in which each watch changed shifts. JaHahn had equipped them with everything they'd need to know to take the port, supplies, and a ship, and begin their way toward the base of the volcano.

As their plan began to make sense, Aegon wanted to make the same sense of his dream. _The red woman again. What did she mean she was sorry?_

Shevrohn estimated they were a half days hike from the river. They stopped to eat, drink, and relieve themselves, then set off into the brush. The sky beyond the forest was clear and blue, without a cloud as far as he could see. It was a stark contrast from that night his boat was destroyed. Peering out over the cliff to the water, slowly rippling with only a few white caps as far off into the horizon as he could see, he was reminded of the rising swells of that night. The ship rocking up and down, the floor tilting below him. He thought of all he'd lost. He kept thinking of the red woman's words.

As they set off, they figured they'd reach the ridges of the cliff around the river mouth near nightfall. An hour or so later, when the guards of the slavers camp usually changed shifts, they'd have another opportunity to do what Aegon was growing increasingly excited for. Spilling blood.


	38. Chapter 38

38

There was little left to the structure of the port city of Zamettar, the once famous settlement of Nymeria and her Rhyonish refugees. Much has changed since then. Or has it?

The ruined city was surrounded by ruined sandstone walls, crumbling from both the natural decay of time and what looked like an ancient sacking. There were posts a castellan could assign guards to and still survey the outskirts of the city, but as JaHahn confessed, Zlatan had grown overconfident and the walls would be poorly manned even with all twenty of the men posted.

The slavers made their camp near the decaying decks of the harbor. Wood planks were overgrown with a mixture of ocean and land greenery, lichen salting the now green planks like a sprinkle of light snow. They made a boat yard, or the remnants of one, their camp, the jungle seemingly pushing the manmade structure back into the ocean from whence it came. Aegon could see all twenty of the men at times from the group's perch on a nearby cliff. The one Neenee, Nahknani, and the others watched from as he and the twins butchered the guards that were once posted on the now vacant shore below them. The bodies of the dead slavers were never moved, infested with crabs and other sea life. Even more bodies had also washed ashore since the boat explosion, along with the remnants of whatever wood remained on the ship after it was reduced to fast moving shards through the air.

The scene reminded him of his own wreck, then the words of the red woman in his dream. _Where were all of my dead men and women? Could it be that only Xenus and I survived? Even so, if we could drift ashore with the debris, where were the rest of the bodies?_

He convinced himself they all sank to the bottom of the ocean. It was the only thing that made sense.

He looked over to Neenee, who was sharpening reeds she'd found into arrows, sitting with her long legs crossed on a small clearing before the grass faded into gravel. Nahknani was leaning behind a tall rock cresting out of the hard ground near the edge of the cliff, reaching into her sack for some sustenance. The brothers shared the water skin. The sisters' eyes were resting, leaning into each other, their backs against each other but hunched to the side toward the ground.

Aegon reached into his own sack, grabbed another round fruit, and bit into it. Before he swallowed his first bite, Lem was already next to him, with his nose inches from the sack, on his haunches smiling. _Greedy bastard._ Aegon reached into the bag and found something that felt like meat and handed it to the hahkyeen's mouth. He took it gently, then whoofed it down in a gulp with a gag. _Stupid bastard._ Aegon couldn't help but smile.

Shevrohn approached him, crouched behind the rock Aegon was using for cover and asked, "What does it look like. Can we trust JaHahn's information?"

"Even if he was telling the truth, we should be prepared for things to change. Eventually, someone will get back to either JaHarle or Zlatan with something, but until then, it looks like he told it true." Aegon leaned over the rock and pointed to the edge of the dock furthest from the boat yard. "You see the dock over there, that far edge of it?"

"Yes," he said peering into the dusky night, the sun still providing enough purple light to see.

"They post two there. Now, you see the burned down building to the right of the yard?" Aegon continued.

"Yes. I see it."

"They have four more posted there. Two outside, two inside. They barely keep watch of anything. They mostly stand under the light of a torch and bullshit. That's six." Aegon said, his heart beginning to flutter in anticipation of the coming battle.

"They have four more that move around. They usually walk forward and back in a straight line, each crisscrossing the others in an X pattern. They all walk with different speeds and with seemingly no specific point other than to walk and look, so it will be tough to time their movements, but they don't walk with focus and intent. They seem to coast back and forth. When they walk by another guard, they usually stop and talk for a while."

"Okay, but that's only ten. Where are the others?" Shevrohn asked.

"The rest were up doing their daily duties, it looked like. Some were loading up the boat. Others were moving stock somewhere else. It looked like either the burnt building or the building next to it. Others were tending to horses and livestock. Nothing they'd still be doing during the night. It appears they have all made their way to the boat yard for their nightly meal and spirits. You can see the light coming from those window openings." Aegon pointed to the main house in the boat yard. It looked like the slavers were enjoying themselves.

"After they have had their fill," Shevrohn added, "they will be easy to fight."

"Let's hope we catch them sleeping. With our seven, we can take the eight guards quickly. Then, we can catch the rest in their beds. Some will wake up, but we just have to make sure we kill them all. If a survivor gets word out, we stand no chance against JaHarle and Zlatan's combined forces without surprise."

"Sooner or later, pink king," Shevrohn said with a smile, "You're going to have to fight one of us with fair odds."

"What about Niisnihk, or whatever his name was? That was just me against him."

"It was still night and the forest was ablaze. Didn't you kill him with fire magic? Is that fair odds?"

"Some might say that. Others would say I stabbed him in the eye with a burning branch, then cut his head from his neck."

"Some would say both, I'm sure."

JaHahn said the shifts for the watch changed about four hours after sundown. He said they shifted responsibility so no guard had the night watch two nights in a row without a break, but it was sometimes used as punishment. Either way, both the guards ending one watch and the guards ready to start another would be tired. Half tired from a long day and first watch. The other still groggy from only a half night's sleep.

The group would make their way down the cliff, the same way he and the twins once descended, and flank the boat yard from both sides. Each member was given their target with stealth and silence emphasized. Aegon was still confident they could overcome the current odds head on if need be, but if the slavers were able to hold up in the main house, they could fight from the higher ground of the second story and loose arrows at them from cover and above. Aegon didn't want it to come to that.

Just before they were about to leave, they all readied themselves. It seemed Chekka was making progress with the twins finally, as the three of them all seemed to jostle and laugh with each other stuffing their packs and readying their weapons. Neenee filled her quiver with a full quarrel of new smooth arrows as well as some of the remaining steel tipped ones she'd commandeered from the ship. Shevrohn sharpened his sword like Aegon had just shown him, and Nahknani stuffed her pack quickly to run over to him.

"You ready?" She asked, smiling and excited. She didn't look nervous, which Aegon thought was odd. She had been involved with a lot more action since they met, but she still didn't seem the cold killer he knew he could be. _Or is she?_

"We're prepared. A man once taught me the best way to ensure success is to be well prepared."

"Doesn't that mean the same as ready?" She asked.

"I suppose you're right. Yes, then," he said, "I'm ready."

"Is something wrong? You've seemed distant since you woke. Like your off far in thought." She was very perceptive.

There were a lot of things on his mind, but the things the red woman said bothered him most. _What 'right questions'? What did the shipwreck have to do with this? She said something about, "when" her part in the story was over. Did she still play some part? What did she have to apologize for? Leading him on into deciding to go to Asshai? How could she know that would lead to him being shipwrecked? Was she able to see the future? Or was she all an invention of his imagination?_

"I had a dream last night that troubled me," he said in an effort to be honest with her.

"Was there any bad omens?"

"I don't know. Dreams are sometimes cryptic. Mysterious. Its hard to understand their meaning. Or if they mean anything at all."

She twisted her eyebrow and replied with adorable sass, "I do know. That's why I questioned your plan when we started. But since then, JaHahn's confessions have proven you right. What did the new dream say?"

He didn't want to or know how to explain the red woman to her. They had just gotten past JaHahn's relationship with her. He didn't want to have to explain his unrequited lover to her. "A sorcerer," _there, that'll do it,_ "that once counseled me has come to me in my dreams with prophetic riddles and clues. They aren't clear, but they serve to provide a warning, I suppose. To be frank, I don't even know. She said," _fuck, I said it was a woman,_ "she was sorry for my losses. Sorry for my pain, but that I had to keep going through it no matter what to stop this."

Her eyebrow furrowed in anger, "So we've been listening to the woman of your dreams, then?" _Uh oh._

"It's not like that, truly. I know it sounds like that, but this woman is a sorcerer-"

"Sorceress," she corrected. She knew it wasn't his Valyrian that faltered previously.

"Whatever. It doesn't matter if she's a he or a she, because she only speaks to me, nothing more. We never touched each other. And now, I would never."

"What do you mean, _now?_ Would you never or just now never? What about before? What does she look like?"

Aegon glanced behind her to see the others. Her intense tone attracted attention, as they mumbled in their tongue and laughed at the two of them bickering. "Trouble in paradise, your grace?" Chekka muttered, his arms around each of the twins' shoulders.

He caught himself and looked back at her. Her face was bent in an authentic irritation, not enraged, but certainly not enthusiastic about the way the red woman was sounding.

"She looks like a pink woman. I've tasted you now. How could I ever go back to that?" He smiled and reached for her cheek. "We're about to kill some slavers, let's not leave each other in anger."

"No. Let's. The angrier I am at this wizard woman, the faster I'll kill these men."

The time came and they all crept down the cliff as silently as they could be. They were mostly sure of where their foes would be and were far enough away as to not be worried if they could hear them at the docks, but Aegon preached extra caution for the evening. On the shore, their sounds were covered by the waves, but they stood out from the horizon and could more easily be spotted, so they made their way, following the twins lead, on all fours.

The night was fully dark, and it was difficult for Aegon to see with only the dim light of the moon to guide him. The Brindled men and women saw much better though, and could direct him when he needed. No further discussion was necessary. They would all make their way to where their target would be, dispatch their target, and regroup closer to the boat yard.

Aegon, Neenee, and Nahknani all drew the guards in and around the burnt building.

From what Aegon scouted from the cliffs, two would sit dockside and two others were inside. Aegon suggested Neenee fire arrows at the first near the front, Nahknani could ambush the other, while Aegon could make his way inside and take care of the other two.

The made their way to the building through the remnants of the harbor town, skulking between buildings and down long forgotten alleys to the docks. Neenee and Nani could easily see their two targets, as Aegon signaled to them that he would make his way around the back toward his.

The building was still mostly standing, though the walls on the west and northern faces were all but crumbled to dust. The sandstone building was charred with black during the day, dragonfire most like, as the city of Zamettar was once a Ghiscari settlement taken by the Dragon Kings of old Valyria. _How fitting._

He kicked off a wall onto another, getting to a ledge he grabbed and climbed up into the second floor of the burnt building. He wasn't sure where the two guards were posted inside, but he could hear them speaking in Ghiscari from the alley he approached from. He knew they were close.

He slipped in the ancient window opening, just an empty gap in the sandstone wall, and gently placed his boots down on the wooden planks of the second level. He tested his step with gentle pressure, hoping to avoid a loud creak, but the waves beyond them all covered the small noises, and he was able to crawl in and look for his victims.

The second story of the building was little more than a walking ramp around the perimeter with the middle completely open. They were both on the first floor below and across the building from him. One was seated, an oil lamp on the floor in front of him and the other was pacing around the bottom floor without a purpose, or so it appeared to Aegon, perched above them, waiting for the right moment.

He had the dirk and a bone dagger they had picked up off of one of JaHahn's men, allowing him to strike quickly with both hands if need be. With the dirk in his right, and the dagger in his left, he studied the path of the traveler, waiting for him to be close enough to the seated guard to attack both at once from above. Like the jahkyar tried against him, unsuccessfully, he crept around the three foot wide outer walkway around the building toward where the sitting guard was positioned, stepping cautiously to avoid additional noise. He reached a point above them and waited for the right moment.

The walker approached the sitting guard and Aegon pounced, leaping down into the walker with a crash and the dagger, rolling forward into the seated guard and bouncing to his feet with a back-hand slash of his signature weapon, opening the slaver's throat to quietly gurgle his last words to himself. The only noise he was guilty of was the crash from the second floor to the walker's neck with his weight and the dagger.

Footsteps pattered into the building. It was Nahknani. Neenee followed close behind, silently. He nodded to them. They nodded back. Nahknani closed her eyes, tilted her head comically, and stuck out her tongue. She returned her face back to normal and smiled.

Quietly, they peered out looking for the rest of the guards or their counterparts in the stealth attack. The three of them waited in silence, anxiously anticipating either the success or failure of their partners, as well as the mission.

They saw Shevrohn approach from the far dock where he and Trihknah must have taken out the two guards, then they made their way to another walking guard. Chekka and Trihknee were assigned to do the same from the other flank, yet they were responsible for the other three walking guards and were seemingly nowhere in sight. Trihknah appeared shortly after they saw Shevrohn. Now they only had to wait for the other two.

Minutes passed as slow as hours as the three stood silently and motionless awaiting their fate. With the time to think, Aegon's mind began to wonder if the Chekka and Trihknee were capable of taking the mission seriously enough to execute it without problems. He didn't remember if it was Trihknee or Trihknah that moaned and almost blew his cover on the previous stealth mission, but if it was Trihknee, would she try something as stupid again?

"Ahk tu," Neenee whispered, pointing to Chekka and Trihknee who were both strolling down the dock in clear sight of the boat yard. _What are they doing?_

Chekka strode toward the closed door. The two guards posted outside the boat yard were already dispatched by Shevrohn and Trihknah, and Aegon, Neenee, and Nahknani slipped out of the burnt building to join the rest.

Everyone looked to be keeping quiet and out of the light, save Chekka, who cared less for stealth. He elbowed Trihknee, and said something in their tongue. Aegon, Neenee, and Nahknani were still a small distance away from the boat yard, twenty or thirty feet when Chekka decided to boom out, "Wake up pink pussies! Your deaths have come to your door. Wake up and make this a fair fight!" He started banging his sword against a nearby plank of wood.

Everyone in his party, except Trihknee, was scrambling to try to somehow communicate for him to stop without becoming loud themselves. If they stayed quiet, they could still be individually stealthy, but the rest of the men clearly now knew something was happening as light started to shine from the second floor of the boat house.

Aegon anticipated what would happen and started racing to the right face of the boat house as slavers began to peak out of the front second floor windows of the house with bows drawn, loosing arrows at the Brindled bravado, his sword waving in the air. He took cover behind a collapsed dock railing, taking heavy arrow fire. A quarrel or two most likely found him.

Aegon climbed the side of the building, gripping a long vine that grew from floor to roof, and dug his feet into the seams where the sandstones met as he ascended the wall toward a window. As he walked higher, he heard the commotion inside continue to grow more chaotic, as more and more of the remaining men were awake and now firing arrows at Chekka. The Brindled Man screamed nonsense from the front of the building, drawing the attention of the remaining men, mostly, as Aegon reached an opening in the second story and slipped in.

He unsheathed the dirk, and charged the now six men leaning out of windows, knocking and loosing arrow after arrow. Before they knew it, Aegon was on them, slashing through the first two before they even knew there was another threat, slicing with a forehand, back-hand combination with deadly accuracy to the back of both men's necks.

He then charged the third as he turned, tackling the third into the fourth and to the ground as the fifth forced an arrow to the string of his bow and pulled back. Aegon sunk the dirk through the third with a quick stab down into his back, and rolled off both bodies, narrowly avoiding the arrow of the fifth. The sixth, wisely, switched to a short sword and hacked at Aegon as he rolled back over the third, lunged at the fifth with the dirk, and spun with a back-hand parry to block the advance from the sixth with the short sword.

The door to the boat house burst in with a boom and a roar, as Chekka seemingly met the four men remaining downstairs to the clang of metal on metal, and the scared screams of green warriors.

Above on the second floor, Aegon was caught trading steel with the sixth, as the fourth was struggling from under the third to get to his feet. The sixth came with a two handed forehand slash with all of his strength, which Aegon dipped away from and countered with a quick stab at his gut. The dirk sunk deep and felt stuck, as Aegon dropped it and dove out of the reach of the fourth's swipe with his own short sword. The sixth dropped to his knees, coughed blood, and collapsed as Aegon rolled to his feet and backed away from the armed attacker, with only his hands left to defend himself.

The fourth backed him into the wall with the window opening behind him. The attacker danced back and forth, cornering Aegon, and coiled to push a straight jab toward the center of his chest. Aegon was able to dodge it to his left, half spinning and bouncing away, avoiding the straight stab. He then grabbed the man's extended arms at the elbow and transferred his forward momentum with a push out of the window. The man landed on his head and seemingly crunched into the hard dock below with the sound of cracks and a splatter.

Aegon pulled the dirk from the sixth's gut to an audible gush of blood and the last breath of the dying man, and jumped down to the first floor to help with whoever was left to kill. To his dismay, they were all dead, except Chekka, who had three or four arrows sticking out of his back. His eyes were blazing with an amber he'd never seen in them before, burning with a lust for blood.

"Are there any more?!" He yelled.

"No. none that I counted. We should search the rest of the settlement to be sure, but I think that's all of them." Aegon said, slightly out of breath.

"How many did you claim, your grace?"

"Eight, I believe, but we should double check the one I threw out the window. And you, ser. What was your count?"

"I only killed five, your grace. Please forgive me." He smirked.

"Are you two toddlers done playing knight? There's work to do. We don't know if they will be getting reinforcements. We must be on the sea within the hour." Shevrohn scolded from just outside the door to the boat house.

Aegon patted Chekka on his burly hairy back, avoiding the arrows, "That might have been the stupidest thing I've ever seen, but it certainly made for more fun. Next time, though, let's stick to stealth. They could have had more."

"There's going to be a next time, your grace?" He asked with childish glee.

"You bet your hairy ass there will be."


	39. Chapter 39

39

They quickly searched the city for anything of value. They found provisions for a week or two for the men stationed here, which would maybe stretch to a moon's rations for their group if they conserved. There was an arms depot stocked with the Ghiscari short swords, iron rimmed wooden shields, quivers and quivers of arrows, which made Neenee smile the first that Aegon had seen, and a barrel of what they assumed was the black powder. Shevrohn half expected to find real wealth, but Aegon had grown to imagine Zlatan's lust for more than just worldly coin. He was after power.

Any man who controlled the weapon would immediately become one of the most dangerous men in the known world. Aegon wasn't concerned with the specific ways one could use it, but from what they witnessed from the boat, it wasn't hard to imagine a way to use it to break down a castle wall, crumble a bridge, level a building, and of course, destroy a boat with ease and little man power. Mix that with the stealth it allowed, a man like Zlatan could sail to Westeros and take all of Kings Landing with four or five well placed barrels.

The group argued over what to do with the barrel they found. It was full of a black powder, fine like sand and seemingly harmless, but it was painted a red skull on the top of it, and all present witnessed the boat explode. There was no question bringing the barrel with them would be considerably dangerous, but it was also potentially the deadliest weapon they had against their enemy.

They also commandeered two more ships. Each was a smaller trading galley, like Aegon captained as Harwin Snow, but both could be used for whatever they decided their purpose for them was. Assuming they could agree upon what should be done next.

One camp, Shevrohn, Neenee, and Trihknah, wanted to travel back to their clan's new encampment with the supplies and weapons, and fortify themselves against an attack. Aegon, which meant Chekka, which then meant Trihknee, whose fondness for Chekka grew tenfold since his foolishness against the slavers, wanted to sail further east around until the fire mountain where JaHahn said the yellow mine was. Nahknani seemed impartial, though Aegon read it as being on the return home side, but wanting to stay with him.

Shevrohn said, "We need these weapons to defend our people. What use are they if we do not have the men to wield them with us? These provisions would feed and help our people more than we need. If we sail to meet the full force of the slavers and JaHarle, they will torture us, then kill us. Let us claim our victory and celebrate with our people."

"The pink king is right in this, brother," Chekka said, "If they're rounding up all of our kind, when they have more of the weapon, nothing will be able to stop them from taking us all, or killing us."

Neenee spoke in their tongue, then Trihknee. Aegon did not want to butt in until all sides were heard. He would let anyone who decided to return the chance to do so, but he wanted them all to decide on their own where they really wanted to be. He would take anyone willing with him, but if he convinced any of them himself, and they died on his watch, his mission, he would never be able to forgive himself. He'd been responsible for too many deaths already.

Which is why when he looked into Nahknani's stressed face, he couldn't help but already feel guilty.

He took her aside and spoke only to her in a soft tone, "Where do you stand in this? I don't want you to go against what you feel is right."

"Right again," she said. "No one knows this, even when you try. I thought killing JaHahn when I did was right, but after doing it, I feel it wasn't. You've said this weapon and these slavers are the enemy this whole time. Following you. Leaving my father. Falling for you. Which of these is right? There is this weapon of fire. There are these slavers here to take us. Yet, I feel my people need me. Need _us._ " She reached out and grabbed his hand. "Come with us. Come back."

"You already know what I must do. You already know where I must go." Aegon felt a strange sense of duty. Honor. He knew none of these Brindled people for more than a week, but he knew more than most about their plight. Being hunted. Used. Put to work by force. He'd never been a slave, but he'd been a servant his whole life. Born from three of the most powerful families in Westeros, reduced to scrubbing pots and decks, fetching drinks and meals, and rowing. Years and years of hard rowing. He had never been freer than he was since the crash. He had never been more himself. He'd never been more a Targaryen than he was now, killing the unjust and defending the weak and innocent. _With Fire and Blood._ He had never been more fulfilled in his life than he was as the Drahkness Kahn to this strange people.

"You act as if you owe us anything. What do you owe the Brindled Men? We've beaten you, chased you, and attacked you when you reached out to us to help," she said.

"You've also cheered for me, followed me, witnessed me become more than I ever was." He smiled, then continued, "And _you've_ loved me. How could I not fight for you and your people?"

"Fight for me and my clan, not my race. The rest that are either captive or hunted have little to nothing to do with the rest of us. Our clan is safe, now-"

"Yes. Now. Not for long, though. What do you think they will do when JaHarle eventually hears about the murder of his son, or the losses their forces have suffered at our hands? Do you think he will forget about us and leave your clan to live in peace? No. Your clan will be safe, for a time, until Zlatan needs new slaves for the mine or JaHarle wants to repay your clan with retribution."

"But how do you hope to defeat an army?" Nahknani said, a final plea against his wishes.

"I'm not sure yet, but I believe this barrel will be of some use."

The rest of them bickered back and forth as Nahknani and Aegon embraced and continued their own discussion. Nahknani would go wherever he went, she said. "No matter how far you run, you will never be rid of me." Aegon didn't ever want to be rid of her, so there was a strange comfort in the curse seemingly put on him. He just hoped he could keep her safe.

"Listen friends," Aegon blurted, interrupting the groups debate in their tongue. "Both sides of this argument have merit. I, for one, believe we must continue, but where we go, there may be no turning back. Fortunately, we have two boats. One will return with most of the provisions and all of the weapons to the clan's camp. The other, will head east towards the mines and Zlatan's forces. I do not want to force anyone to continue. Those that want to return, should and will."

"If we split up our numbers, how could you hope to win against the slavers? With seven would be near impossible. Three or four would be even worse." Shevrohn said.

"We will bring this barrel with us and show the slavers how effective a weapon it can truly be. We do not need to kill every man in their army, just enough of the ones in charge to liberate the slave army. We don't have to erase them from the map, just cripple the mines so they cannot continue to produce the weapon. With stealth, four effective warriors with a purpose can do more than thousands and thousands of slave soldiers that fight because they are forced to. Hopefully, they'll never even know we were there." Aegon responded.

The group arguing to turn back quickly agreed, save Shevrohn who seemed guilty for giving up on his pink king. There was also a sorrow in his eyes, knowing that his younger brother was one of the ones choosing to continue onward.

Trihknah and Trihknee also continued a spat between the two. Trihknah, it seemed, for he could not understand their words, was passionately pleading to her sister to return with her. Trihknee had found something to keep her going. What it was, Aegon didn't know. Chekka. A sense of duty. The taste of blood and the promise of more bloodshed. Aegon wasn't certain, but he did know, in the end, her sister's pleas were unable to shake her resolve, and Trihknee stayed with the group that would continue.

Neenee and Nahknani had a private conversation between themselves. Nahknani handed Neenee a crumbled parchment with what looked like Valyrian scribbled on it. The Brindled People had never made words to their language to write down, so all written correspondence between them was usually in Valyrian or another foreign tongue. It was little used, but it seemed Nahknani wanted to send her father home a message. Aegon prayed to the old Gods that she would be able to see him again. But again, he thought of the Old Gods' limits in this place, and felt ominous finishing a prayer he feared useless.

Both boats were easy enough to sail, especially since Shevrohn had become proficient enough to trust with a ship of his own. The group loaded up the cargo for the returning boat. As they did, Aegon turned to Shevrohn and said, "All ships need a name, especially when they change hands. It is bad luck to sail without naming your vessel. What will yours be?"

Shevrohn pondered the thought for a moment. "This ship is your gift to our people. The ship will be called _Drahkness Hohn,_ or "The Dragon's Hope." What will you call yours?"

Aegon thought about it before asking Shevrohn and quickly responded, "Drahkness Frahn" I think it means Dragon Flame."

"Frahn means hot or heat. Drahkness Alroh is Dragon's Flame."

"Arlo?"

"No, Al-roh. Flame."

"That's what I'll name it: Alroh. Flame. Its simple and sounds like a person's name. Alroh."

"May you have more luck with Alroh than you did with your first ship." Shevrohn giggled to himself, though Aegon was already thinking much of the same.

"And may your sails be full of wind and your holds be full of riches. That's something we used to say when departing a good friend before a voyage." Aegon said.

"You consider me a friend, your grace?" Shevrohn asked in jest.

"Truer than most I've ever met. I wish you well and I pray we see each other again."

"I will pray as well, but for your mission to succeed and for you to survive. Watch over my brother for me. He looks to you as a hero from the stories of our youth and follows you blindly. Do not take his loyalty and serve him with death for trusting you. If the odds are too great, if the mission you're set to embark on proves suicidal, please spare him. Let him live. I fear he wants to die the hero, yet he has only barely begun to be alive."

"I will watch over him as I would my own brother. You have my word, if the odds are too great, I will suffer my fate alone." Aegon held his fist to his heart as he took another solemn vow. Though he felt uncomfortable with the lives of others once again his responsibility, it was the least he could do for this man who sacrificed himself to his cause before even truly believing it.

"With what we've learned from JaHahn, Ootrahk and our clan can prepare ourselves for what is next. Thank you, Aegon Velaryon, may your path be clear and your aim be true."

"Yours as well Shevrohn of the Brindled Men." They grasped each others' wrist and shook their arms in the way the Brindled People did. Then they embraced for a hug, and departed off onto the boats they had chosen. The paths they had chosen.

Chekka followed his brother onto his boat for a last embrace, talking and holding each other before once again departing to their chosen destinies. Aegon was moved by the embrace and hoped the two would see each other again.

Trihknah and Trihknee seemingly couldn't release their own embrace. Nahknani told Aegon as they waited the twins had never been apart for more than an hour or two at a time. They ate together. Worked together. Hunted together. Even fucked together. This was the first time they would ever be apart, and the bond between them seemed almost too strong to sever. Aegon hoped it would only be for a time.

Nahknani personally said goodbye to each of the three individually. She curtly and coldly shook Trihknah's arm, hugged and thanked Shevrohn, and bowed and touched foreheads with Neenee. All the goodbyes seemed an ominous start to their journeys, as each individual looked into the eyes of the other as if it might be the last time. All in the group knew the dangers Aegon's group would encounter, though not specifically, and each member departing looked as though they harbored guilt for turning away. But nonetheless, as the boats were loaded and the goodbyes were said, the two crews manned their posts and set off. One boat East. One West. Both toward uncertain futures and fates.

One way or another, this world was about to change forever. Aegon hoped it was for the better.

Aegon's ship _Alroh_ made it out of the port and onto the open sea in good time for a small galley. Without cargo, the ship was fast enough, and they followed the coastline east towards the fire mountain and where JaHahn confessed the mines would be. The crude map Shevrohn had drawn was with them, and he tried to follow the marks, though none were consistent with what he saw.

Aegon spent the first hour of the voyage avoiding large peaking crags of jagged rock that seemingly knifed through the water's surface threatening to down their ship only moments after setting off on their voyage. Trolling so close to the shore became increasingly more and more dangerous, and after one close call too many with the sea floor's pointed obstacles, Aegon decided it would be safer to make their way further out to sea, avoiding the jagged coral and sandbars that meant to sink them.

Out on the open ocean, they wouldn't have to worry about sinking from running aground, but there were other dangers in the middle of the big blue Summer Sea. Aegon refused to focus on them just yet, though he prepared himself for the steps they'd all have to take to ensure their safe passage.

Aegon sailed in the light of the setting moon. Attacking again at night meant little to no sleep, and the boats were loaded and out of port before sunrise. The moon was bright until just after they embarked on their journey as they sailed toward the rising sun. But the sun had still yet to peak its warm rays over the horizon and the moon still shone dimly over the dark sky. Morning would mean light enough for Chekka and Trihknee to man the ship until Aegon could get some sleep.

He steered the rudder in the depths, keeping the coastline within sight. Nahknani climbed up to him from the captain's quarters where she settled his and her things, and asked him, "How long before we get back on land?"

"I don't know yet," he said, "maybe a day or so."

"How will you know when we've reached where we need to go?"

"I'll know. We'll all know." Aegon remembered one of the last things he saw before that night the boat sank. Coming around Lesser Moraq, he could barely see the coast of Sothoryos. When he did, one of the last things he remembered seeing was the volcano, or fire mountain as they called it. It wasn't active, but it stood out among the rest of the peaks, and he remembered a Southern Islander familiar with Sothoryos remark as they passed a story of when it erupted long ago. That was a day's sail from when he crashed, or so he thought.

The mountain wasn't where they would anchor however. They needed to approach whatever forces with stealth, so they planned to overshoot the volcano and ferry ashore further east. They didn't know the territory, so they could troll slowly figuring where, and circle back around once they decided on a spot if need be. If a bay or natural harbor seemed clear, they'd take it, for they had the black powder with them, and he knew enough that he and his group would have to be delicate in order not to set it off.

Light began to peer over the horizon and the blinding rays from the morning sun stung off the glare of the rippling ocean. The water here was clear blue, deeper than one could imagine. He squinted, peering through the rays to glimpse his last course before retiring to the captain's quarters.

He called to Chekka, "Ser Chekka of the Brindled Men, it is your turn to navigate."

"Your grace," he obliged, "it is my duty to serve."

Aegon nodded, hearing, "Your Grace," in a foreign tongue and felt he was growing tired of their game. At first, it was satisfying to speak and hear the words as if they could have been, though not in the common tongue of the land he had claim to. Since he again accepted his truth, hearing his repressed lineage from the full red lips of the red woman, he sometimes would wonder _What if my father survived the Gullet? What if he survived The Dance?_ But those lies felt less hopeful and more hurtful. Those potential scenarios were less than words. And if words are wind, what more are hopes and dreams than the nothingness of still air. Motionless. Formless. Useless. Nothing at all, in the end. If words are wind, dreams were less than that. Dreams were nothing.

He'd never be the King of Westeros, and he knew that. He'd known that, even when he continued on to Asshai. All he wanted was to return home with enough cargo to explain the sudden unexplainable wealth he obtained when he earned the dirk, extracted the name of his betrayer, and took his revenge on the man who meant to profit off of his bounty. When Harwin Snow killed Captain Harrus, he stole his gold. Decades worth of savings only the Captain and Har ever knew existed. The Captain had been embezzling taxes taken at the port in White Harbor for years, bribing the workers with cheap wine and cheaper whores, he managed to siphon off one tenth of the port's tariffs for over twelve years Har knew of, and kept the gold underneath the tiles of his privy. Har caught him one time hiding it there, pounds and pounds of it in a sack the size of a human. He remembered the Captain's explanation for the hiding place. "No one'll ever look so near shit, Har, my boy. No one ever gives enough of a shit to get into actual shit."

"Don't call me that so much. I'm no actual king, you know." Aegon said, his voice haggard as he battle with the negativity in his head, a clear side effect from his growing exhaustion.

"And I am no actual knight, nor Valyrian, nor Westerosi. But neither are you a Brindled Man, yet you're here on the front line of this war, risking yourself for the lives of our people. People my brother and the others wouldn't die for." He reached his enormous palm and grasped Aegon by the shoulder. "It seems you'd be glad to die for them. Which either makes you an insane asshole, or a damn good one. I don't follow you because your father's father proclaimed himself a ruler."

"It was actually my father's mother," Aegon said in jest.

"Really?" Chekka asked, actually interested.

"Really. It's a long story. I'll tell you all about it once I've gotten some rest," Aegon said.

"Wait," Chekka stopped him, "Let me finish. I don't follow you because your ancestors told my ancestors what to do. You live without fear of consequence because you so truly believe in your choices. This is why I liked the stories of knights. They lived to save others. They used their strength when the weak needed help. This, to me, is glory. To live and die so that others can live longer and die later. And that is why I follow you. That is how a king should live."

Aegon wished he could have explained "doing what was right" to Nahknani as well as Chekka had just described it to him. "I appreciate your words, good ser, but please, refrain from dying. I made a promise to your brother. He wants you to live."

"If there's any way we can survive, you would be the one to figure it out. Go, rest," he said, ushering Aegon to the ladder to the chambers below deck. Aegon allowed himself to be guided, and climbed down to where he found Nahknani sleeping, and Trihknee dressing to go above deck.

"It's our turn to sleep," Nahknani said, her face flat on its side on a worn cotton mattress atop a wooden bunk nailed to the wall. She didn't open her eyes or move a muscle other than her jaw and lips. "Find another bed. I need my space."

"Fine by me," he said, too tired to quip or respond with anything other than the least amount he could say to not be rude. He found the nearest bunk, plopped on it limply, and mumbled, "Good night," to Nahknani so inaudibly he figured she didn't hear. And she didn't, or was too tired herself to respond.

He drifted into a deep sleep. His unconscious waited for another dream, something telling or revealing to further color his previous one about the night his boat sank. Nothing happened that he could remember or felt coherent enough to comprehend intelligibly.

Suddenly, he was being shaken awake by Trihknee, her arms jolting his shoulders back and forth on the cot, yelling to him something in their tongue. When he opened his eyes, every couple of words she'd yell in Valyrian, "Stupid!" than rattle off more of her own tongue.  
"What? What is it," he managed to respond rubbing his eyes awake.

"Come," she said, bolting up the ladder to the deck. He followed, with as much haste as his still half sleeping body could muster. As soon as Aegon climbed off the ladder from below deck, Chekka called to him, "Aegon, look, on the horizon." He pointed to a dark shape bobbing up and down in the distance, seemingly dancing on the surface of the water. It was a ship.

"Corsairs," Chekka said. "They seem to be on us, and I don't think this boat can outrun them for long."

 _Great_ Aegon thought with a yawn. _This again._


	40. Chapter 40

40

The ominous shape on the horizon gained on them faster than the wind, galloping closer as _Alroh_ seemed to only ever inch. The shore wasn't close enough to escape to, and the seemingly treacherous crags and sandbars they avoided earlier would have helped slow down their pursuers. But now that they were out on the open ocean, there was no where to go and no where to hide.

Corsairs in these parts were known to be much more voracious and relentless than their counterparts near the Stepstones. Corsairs here docked amongst the rocky coves on the shores of the Basilisk Isles, off the northeastern coast of Sothoryos. In his time with the Captain, Har had many a run in with corsairs and pirates of all sorts. More often than not, they were easy enough to out run. Much like wild predators of the animal kingdom, corsairs are mostly only able to catch and overtake the weakest and slowest of ships. But the few times they were caught, it was only after the bloodiest of fights that they would ever retreat back into the sea, and of those times, Har only ever remembered them leaving after being dropped overboard, lifeless.

Aegon called directions to crew directions to maximize the gusts, trying to outrun the much swifter ship now behind him, still gaining. With each chop of the waves, they seemed to jump closer and closer to their stern off the port side. When they came into view, Aegon looked at the ship. It was a large galley, not fully a war galley, but something custom built and ravishing. Even from the distance, it seemed to glow golden off the glare of the water. The wood of the ship was a pale yellow, almost white. Not weirwood, but something as exotic. The sails flapped, marked with a peculiar emblem. It was a woman colored in teal standing on the back of some creature, holding reins as if riding it. The creature had the body of a dolphin and the head of a dragon or seahorse and the shape was surrounded in a purple sun with four points, seemingly north, south, east, and west. There were twenty oars on each side, churning the water like a maid butter, relentlessly propelling the ship nearer.

Chekka yelled to Aegon to speed up, almost begging. "How? We have no oarsmen?" Aegon replied.

"You have me." Chekka said, "Where do I go?"

"You'd need another on the other side to counter it. Take Trihknee down there, where you see those staffs and seats, you see them?" Aegon said, pointing to oars, a place he spent so much of his life.

"What do I do with it?" Chekka asked. Aegon was already manning the rudder and the sails himself. He couldn't go down and demonstrate for him.

Aegon tried to explain it, "You push and pull the staff in one continuous circle, pushing at the top curve and pulling at the bottom curve. Use your legs. Your arms will get tired in a heartbeat if you don't."

"That's with your puny arms," he chuckled.

"Go. Now. They're gaining."

They ran down, though Aegon already knew it didn't matter. Nahknani came to him asking, "What are we going to do?" She clutched him as he was trying to steer and almost got knocked over.

"Sorry," he apologized and acknowledged her question without answering it, "I'm doing everything I can at the moment." He didn't know how to answer her yet.

Aegon thought about it. Some craven captains would order their men to hide during raids from pirates rather than risk their lives or their crews'. Some even more craven, only had a small designed hiding spot for themselves, but of the men he'd heard of, most sunk in their ship, locked away, as pirates either sink or steal boats with no resistance. Others would seek to parlay, offering their wares willingly, without a fight, but with the dignity of looking the pirate in the face. Those, though, left their fates to the honor of corsairs, the likes of whom have not been known to be an honorable bunch.

Fighting was the only way Har believed in, but was Har right? Could there be another way?

A galley that size, with that many rowers, would be stuffed to the stern with men ready to kill them. With the Brindled people on his side, he'd be able to overtake a few of the boarding party, but eventually, their numbers would overwhelm them. And for what? A few bundles of food, four swords, and a barrel of black powder the corsairs couldn't know the value of? Why would anyone involved risk their lives for such a poor prize? Sure, nine out of every ten corsairs would sell any captives into slavery, and out of the one out of ten, nine out of those ten would just kill anyone anyway, but if Aegon gave it to them willingly, maybe they would be kind enough to allow them to live and be on their way. And if whoever the parlaying captain wouldn't be so kind, Aegon was quick enough with the dirk to at least kill him. The rest of his group would know what to do, and maybe leaderless, the pirates would scatter and flee. _Yea, and maybe my dragonblood will help me fly._

It was a gamble, but Aegon decided parlaying would be their best option. Then, at least, he could offer himself up as a last bargaining chip and save his crew if it came to that. Aegon Velaryon was still worth land and titles in Westeros. That was more than any corsair could hope to find aboard a victim.

As it rolled, closer its bow crushing through the waves, climbing the choppy mountains of waves and gliding down them until the golden ship was almost on them, approaching from the port side. Aegon countered by moving back until it was on their starboard side, their captain clearly setting up the boarding party port. As it came closer into view, he noticed its bow was adorned with a woman, or so it looked like. Not a mermaid or a representation of a goddess, it seemed, but a woman dressed in common garb, her face more angry than seductive. Most corsairs would garnish their rams with a nude, beautiful woman. It was strange to see a face so strong and fierce where there was usually something so pleasing. He feared for the type of man that would make that choice.

Aegon continued to swerve, each ship jockeying back and forth for position. Aegon heard Chekka from below yelling to him that he was going to be ill if the boat continued to rock so hard. Aegon replied by turning the boat hard again to the starboard side, catching a small gust the best he could, trying to escape, seemingly helplessly, as the chase had felt like a full day, but had been in real time only an hour or two. He heard Chekka retch from below. He did the best he could, but all they were doing now was wasting time. He hadn't even responded to Nahknani when she asked him, so focused on every change in the wind's direction and the approaching doom the golden boat represented.

It was time. He tied off the rudder and sails and huddled down to his group to explain the plan. He left out the last bargaining chip, for he would explain it to them after he did it if he had to. He wasn't sure if he didn't want them offering him up first, or not allowing it at all and dying for his cause. Well, all except for Trihknee. He assumed she didn't like him very much anymore. She would almost certainly turn him in if he could.

Aegon stood near the rudder, patiently awaiting the boarding party as he waited for JaHahn. There was no planned surprise attack. Even if they caught the corsairs by surprise, how could they hope to defeat so many. Forty, fifty, maybe? They'd still all die.

Aegon just stood, cautiously optimistic of the make shift approximation of a plan he was trying, but still gravely aware of the consequences of a wrong turn. Men seemingly poured onto their boat, flooding it in teal silk doublets not at all in line with what a corsair might where. Their hems were all seemingly stitched with fine needle work. Their footwear was all cobbled. They all seemingly had their teeth that he'd seen. No band of corsairs could ever claim to as fine a collective of teeth than these pirates. All of them, gleaming white chompers, none missing. And among them, there were more women than he had ever imagined would be on a ship of scoundrels and scallywags.

They flooded the ship and surrounded him, his stance motionless, but passive, allowing the tips of their short swords to be pointed at him with some distance. _They're even polite enough to honor my personal space. Who the fuck are these pirates?_

The rest of them, and it did seem all of forty men and women, searched to boat, claiming all their valuables like ants on a forest floor, each time something was found, it was brought back to their boat without hesitation, as more looked for the rest of it. Within minutes, the entire boat was searched, and the other three crew members were easily found. There was no use hiding Brindled Men in a boat so poorly constructed. Where they fuck would you put two women and a man so large? He prayed to the gods that Nahknani would be safe. They didn't seem to touch her. _Good._ He thought. _Maybe they can hear me._

The rest would take even more divine intervention. "I seek to speak with your captain." Aegon said in Valyrian.

"You seek parlay?" A man said, his voice softer and smoother than one would expect.

"Yes."

"Very good. We could use a good show. For what you have aboard, you better prove entertaining. This was more a waste of energy than anything." He twirled the purple half cape around him and marched back toward his ship to fetch his captain. Aegon locked eyes with Nahknani and tried to appear strong. She was visibly shaken. He mouthed, "Its going to be okay." He didn't know if she understood. That phrase in Valyrian was hard for him to remember.

Then the men that surrounded him parted in unison as if they'd practiced. From the folding teal men, a procession of six shirtless men carried a throne on two iron poles that had teal and purple swirls forged into them. Atop them sat a golden throne, thin but gilded, with ornate carvings in the shapes of coral. The captain seated on it wore sheer purple breeches or trousers, thought they flowed more like a robe or dress. The doublet to match was a deeper teal than the crews', stitched and etched with the same creature on the sail. The shoulders were wrapped in a dark lavender cloak with teal trimmings that hung down and under where the captain sat.

She was a woman.

A striking beautiful woman with purple eyes and white hair. Her skin was golden, kissed by the sun into a warm glowing shine that almost emanated off her. Her hair was tied and braided to one side, though thicker and more elaborately than a Dothraki, her hair seemingly crowning her head. Her dark eyebrows were a stark and startling contrast from the light features of her hair and eyes, and though beautiful, her face seemed intimidating and grave. She wore a smile on her face, with slight dimples in her rouged cheeks, but it wasn't a happy grin or a flirtatious look of intrigue, it maniacal and sinister, and it still turned him on.

She crossed her legs, and took a sip from her goblet as the men below her carried her to him. Her skin was covered from head to toe, but he could still make out the fullness of her frame. She was tall, and somewhat muscular for a woman, but still held her posture in a dainty and feminine way. Her silvery white braid hung down and propped on the shelf of her chest until it then curved back down to her waist, the curls near the bottom bouncing as they carried her, suspended in a floating waterfall from the tip of her breast. She tossed her drink back, gulped it, chugged it, then tossed the goblet to her crowd. They roared, as if adoring fans, and fought for it amongst themselves in a small scuffle. She wiped her mouth with the teal silk sleeve of her doublet and belched deep and loud. She gestured to her crowd, who all laughed in applause. When the men reached where Aegon was, they lowered the throne and she stepped off with a bounce.

"You say you seek parlay with me?" She asked. She carried herself like half a pirate and half a noble lady. He face was lined with the experience, not as much with age, as she herself couldn't be more than thirty to five and thirty. She wore thick dark makeup around her eye lids and lashes, which were long curled, and probably fake. She batted them after asking her question, as she looked Aegon up and down as Nahknani once had. "Why, ser, would I do such a thing as that?"

"I hoped, though in short supply, that I would be speaking to a man of honor. Lucky for me, it seems I won't be speaking to a man at all." Aegon replied.

"Lucky you say? May I ask why is it you are so lucky to parlay with a woman?"

"There's far more honorable women in this world then men, I've found."

"Indeed," she said, her scowl momentarily switching to a curious grin. "Have you found corsairs and pirates to be so honorable?"

"I have not. But then again, I've never been boarded by corsairs so finely dressed. And with enough taste to put a woman in charge, surely you are of a more honorable cut of corsair."

"Indeed." She smiled again. "What is your name, ser?"

"You can call me Harwin."

"That is not what I asked you, is it, Harwin? I have played that game as well. When those used to ask my name, I used to tell them to call me many things. For a time I was Moutain Laurel. For a time I was called Oleander. Both are beautiful flowers, but poisonous, too. Just how you said it is how I would say it to. 'You can call me Oleander.' Again, I ask you your name, ser?"

"Those who call into question my name would call me Harwin Snow. For most of my life I was Harwin Snow. I believe my true name to be Aegon Velaryon, but as I was orphaned so long ago, and I have little recollection of my birth and naming, I could be mistaken."

"Velaryon, huh? Strong name." She said, slowly stepping towards him, pulling the cloak off of her scabbard on her left hip. "There's money in a name like that. Why are you in the middle of the Summer Sea with no cargo and three beasts with a name like Velaryon?" She took another step until she was next to him. "You are Westerosi, no?"

Aegon couldn't get what she was playing at. He told her his name as to not provoke her, assuming she somehow might already know and avoid retaliation by her crew killing Nahknani or the others. He thought it would be the end of their discussion and he would be taken immediately. If she didn't already know his identity however, than she certainly wouldn't know about the secret bounty.

"More or less. I am not in good standing, lets say, with my kin. So, I'm not under their protection or employ, thus why I go by Harwin Snow."

"Okay, Aegon Velaryon Harwin Snow or whatever." She said, as she walked her two fingers over Aegon's shoulder to his chest. She poked him once playfully and said with a grin, "Why the fuck would I parlay with you, when," she looked around to her audience and paused dramatically, "I've already take every shitty little thing you have?"

"Like I said-"

"Yeah, we get it, 'honor'" she said in a mocking tone. "Well, let me tell you about me, Ser Aegon Harwin Velaryon Snow," she walked back, circled her throne, and sat back down, resting her foot on her knee. "I see a man with these brindled beasts on a boat with a Harpy on the sail, and the first thing I think of is slavers. Now, you're certainly the best looking slaver I've ever seen, but you're sailing on a slaver boat, with nothing of value other than slaves. Why would you keep mentioning honor to me when you clearly do not honor freedom? Men, take him, let us see how he feels with fetters and chains."

"Wait! Stop! He is no slaver. This man is saving our people from slavers!" Nahknani yelled as she reached through the men guarding her, holding her back from running to him.

"Stop!" The woman screamed back to her men. "Bring her here."

They seized Nahknani and brought her to their captain. "Gentle. There's no need to harm her." When she reached her, Nahknani stood straight and defiantly, staring straight past the beautiful pirate.

"What do you say of this man?" the captain asked.

"I said he is no slaver. He's killed many slavers if only to protect our people. He is foreign to our lands but still fights for honor. If it is honor he speaks of, its because he lives it." Nahknani said, never looking the woman in the face.

"Bring him back here," she said. Her men and women obeyed, and pushed Aegon back down to the deck in front of their captain. "Move her aside, but within listening distance. I want to make sure neither are able to lie to me." She looked down at Aegon and asked, "Does she tell it true? Are you not a slaver after all?"

"No. Fuck slavers."

"Aye. A man after my own heart." She offered her hand, "Here, stand."

Aegon reached for it. As he did, the woman quickly glanced at Nahknani, then back at him. "So, you're not a slaver, at least. That's good enough to start. But that still leaves us with my original question. What do you have to offer if you mean to parlay?"

"I will answer that in a moment, but since you know my name and what I call myself, can I ask your name, my lady?" Aegon said.

"You may ask, and to be true, you already have asked. You're capable of asking a question, yes. Can you _know_ this? No. As I said. I've been called many names. I've been called many other things, too, but that's because of the depravity of men, not because I enjoy colorful language. Now answer my question. What do you have to offer me?"

"We have already given you our offering."

"Those meager food rations and weapons? This is what you offer? Remember, I already have that shit in my possession. How can you claim to treat with things you don't even have in your hands?"

"That is not all we've given you, though admittedly our plunder is minimal. We've given at least ten of your men, maybe as many as twenty, of your men their lives. We put up no resistance to your boarding and have made all your lives the easier if only for today. Take our things and your lives. You may even have the ship, just take us close enough to land or give us a row boat to get ashore. We can all continue our lives and reek further havoc on slavers, if you would allow us to live, that is." Aegon sensed she had as much disdain for the slavers as he had. He hoped it would be enough to bargain with.

"That's so very kind of you to consider, ser, but we are not goodwill hunters, we are pirates and we seek booty!" He turned to her fans as they cheered. "Let me tell you a little more about myself, Aegar, I'm going to call you Aegar. When I was only seven, I was sold to a pleasure house in Lys to be trained in the seven sighs. I was little more than property. On my eleventh nameday, when I was to be sold, a beautiful Westerosi woman bought me and freed me the next day. She said I could live in the streets as a whore, or come with her to her manse and live a free woman under her roof. She said she was lonely and needed a companion. Obviously, I accepted."

"She told me she was once a princess in your land, until she wanted control of her womanhood and her father tried to strip it away from her. She wasn't 'lady-like' enough, or proper, so they tried to turn her into a servant for the gods. She fled and worked her way from nothing to something, then something more, and she used the power of her body to take control of her world. She died with everything I ever wanted as a child. Money. Land. Wealth. Influence. But she died still sorrowful for what she'd lost."

"When she died, the Volantenes did not honor her decision to bequeath me her estate, and confiscated it, leaving me little more than a bag of silver and the clothes on my back. I fought through this disgusting world the same way she taught me, using my talents to seduce a triarchy and blackmailing him for a third of his wealth. I told his wife anyway. After that, I took my money to Braavos, becoming a courtesan by the name of Oleander, with my own pleasure barge and a bouquet of lovely little flowers all around, men and women, free to leave when they wanted, but also free to make money the way I did."

"But after years of having sex with fat old men, too drunk off booze and power to thrust hard enough to feel, I needed to break free, again. I had become the same sorrowful woman as my mentor. I had money. My own boat. Wealth. And more influence than almost anyone in Braavos, as I was the Sealord's own mistress, or so he thought. But I was still unhappy. I was still a slave."

"I ordered the Sealord to commission this boat, Terrax, and since, I've pirated the seas as, Lady Belaerys, Queen of the Summer Seas. Jaenara Belaerys was always my favorite story as a child, and it felt right to patrol above the Green Continent she explored."

"It is a pleasure to meet you Lady Belaerys." Aegon said, cordially.

"Yes. It might be. So, there is nothing else you have to offer, Aegon?"

"Nothing else."

"Maybe there is," she said with that same sinister smile. A smile similar to the one Nahknani would sometimes give him. "As a woman whose spent so much of her life pleasing men, I have come to appreciate a man that can please a woman more than most. I am done with fucking men who think they get to have me. I want to fuck who I want. And as I look at you, that's what I want." She smiled, and quickly glanced at Nahknani, then back at Aegon. "I want you to fuck me and if you please me, I'll honor your parlay. I want you to fuck me in front of all these people and we'll all decide if you deserve to go on pleasuring the women of the world or is that beautiful physique just a tease for the next girl you deceive. What do you say? Do you agree to my terms?"

Aegon didn't look at Nahknani, but he could feel her eyes on him. If she only knew what he was thinking, she could relax, but he could only imagine the pain in her heart as she assumed he would take the opportunity to lay with such a strikingly gorgeous pink woman, a Valyrian looking woman, in fact. The girl of Har's dreams.

"Before I answer, may I ask you a question?" Aegon responded.

"It seems you already have again. But yes, you may ask yet another."

"Did the woman who freed you die wishing for love?"

"I could not say. I knew not of what made her sad." She said.

"Frankly, since you caught me before with my name, that is bullshit. The woman passed down her wealth to you and you knew nothing of her pain and sorrow. That is as much a lie or more than my name. At least I slanted my phrasing to mislead you. You just outright lied."

"Yes I did. It was not my truth to tell, nor your truth to know," she growled. She composed herself and shook her head as she continued, "You test me, Aegar, though I like the challenge. Hopefully you will be as formidable an opponent with your sword, and I don't mean that tiny thing on your hip."

"Unfortunately, Lady Belaerys, I will have to decline your offer. Hopefully that doesn't mean I still have to show you my sword."

"And why would you deny me such an easy request?"

"The reason you left Braavos is the reason I decline. I cannot use sex as currency. In this instance, it is because I have found the thing your mentor so longingly desired, and I would not risk that for the chance to get in you. I mean you no offense, but as I can sense your pretense, I believe you never meant for me to fuck you anyway."

She stood from her throne and clapped her hands. She started slowly, almost sarcastically, then sped up and jeered on her crowd to continue, going as far as to adding hooting to the cheers. Nahknani, Trihknee, and Chekka were stunned. Their faces twisted and searched the scene for some sense of clarity they would never find. Especially Trihknee, who probably didn't understand one word of any of the conversations that were said, for the entire pirate crew to now be cheering the Drahkness Kahn.

"So, you are in love with this one," Lady Belaerys asked, pointing to Nahknani. "Do they even have pussies?"

"Yes, they seem every bit as human as you or I."

"I could tell she felt it. All women in love look at me like that when I speak with their men. I just wanted to see if you were truly an honorable man, or just another hound with its pink dick out, waiting to fuck the first thing wet enough." She turned and looked at Nahknani, "You _are_ exotically wonderful, that's for sure. You could make a fortune in the right place with the right clientele. Too bad though, sweetling, we could've worked something out with the three of us all together."

"I'm not one to share," Nahknani said, smiling as nicely as she could.

"If it's all the same to you, since it's just the four of you and we will be taking this ship once you've reached your destination, would you care to join my crew and I in some libations and song?" Lady Belaerys asked, the sinister smile returning again.

Aegon looked to Nahknani. She seemingly looked back, saying with her eyes, "I want her to fucking go away, but since she can't, say yes, but don't go near her ever again." He assumed her eyes said as much. They could have said, "No," but if he said that, they'd be swimming ashore.

"Consider you and your crew formally invited onto our boat. But we never agreed to you getting the boat," Aegon said.

"Well if you're not going to fuck me, I'm going to need something."

"The boat will do." Nahknani said, stepping next to Aegon and grasping his arm and clutching it tightly.

When night fell, the entire crew of both boats were drinking, eating, and singing. Aegon didn't know any of the songs or even the melodies, but he, Nahknani, Chekka, and Trihknee, were still drunk enough to try to sing along. "Is this how pink men celebrate, your grace?" Chekka asked, yelling over the singing.

"Yes, and don't call me that until they leave." It seemed they were in the clear, but Aegon didn't want to chance it.

The whole boat rocked back and forth, as the crews were singing and dancing. One woman got up on a platform, like a raised dais, and called for men to dance to seduce and win her in front of the crowd. Each man jumped up and performed a sensual dance for her and the crowd to the roars of many men and women. When she chose her winner, they demonstrated his prize for all to see, prompting other men and women to begin kissing and touching each other in the audience. They were dressed like a Westerosi court, but they were still as savage as Dothraki, copulating in public beneath the stars. Proper pirates finally.

When they were finished, the crowd cheered with a roar. One mans voice yelled, "That's it," which prompted a roar of drunken laughter from the crowd. When the couple got off the dais, Trihknee climbed up, almost falling, and yelled out to the crowd in her tongue. She gestured enough for everyone watching to know, she meant to do the same as the previous woman. Even going so far as to expose her lower lips for a flash, which incited a roar from the crowd louder than any before.

A few men quickly jumped up, dancing to claim her. She watched, interested enough, but not impressed. Aegon ran to Chekka and nudged him, saying, "Get the fuck up there, she's waiting for you."

"No, she wants one of these other pink men. Look how hard she went after you." He said.

"You don't get it. She wants you to win her. She's not interested in that idiot," he said pointing to the elder drunken man, fully nude, with his old wrinkled manhood swinging around to the laughter of the crowd. "Get up there and fuck her senseless."

With that, he stood, his face somewhat flush, which he'd never seen a Brindled person's skin do before. He stepped powerfully towards the dais and leaped on top of it with one smooth and easy hop. He stood before Trihknee, picked her up with one arm and ripped off her vine wrap with the other. He threw her down, the whole boat seemed to shake, and he stood abover her, unwrapping his own garments, and exposed himself to her. She smiled as she did in the tent covered in the slavers blood, but she was looking up at him, naked on the stage in front of the entire crews of both ships. He lowered himself down to her and took her right there.

Aegon looked away, as the crowd kept chanting, "Go, go, go, go!" He looked to Nahknani, who was looking away as well, "Let's find our own spot."

She smiled and nodded. They crept away as the boat chanted their show and found a quiet corner toward the back of the boat where no one could see.

She kissed him. Raking her teeth against his lips hard enough, but gently. He shoved her back up against the wall behind her and gripped her ass hard with one hand and the side of her face gently with the other. She slid her vine covering over and pulled his dick out from his breeches. He lifted her up and entered her, sliding in and pushing her up against the wall. Locked with both her lips, he kissed and pushed into her, the skin of his member caressed by the smooth wet sensation of her sex, and the blood rushing from his brain to its tip. He pushed and she whispered, "More," in his ear. He pushed and she whispered, "Yes." Pushed, "Oh. Oh. Yes. Yes."

"Can I watch, I've never seen anything like this before," Lady Belaerys said, turning the corner and scaring the hells out of Nahknani and Aegon both. They didn't stop though, he just stopped thrusting for a moment to realize what was happening. The two looked each other in the eyes, shrugged, and Aegon continued to thrust again, bending the wooden wall behind them with each push. The former courtesan reached her hand down into her lap as Aegon continued into Nahknani. Each woman began to moan, and the courtesan came over next to them. He touched Nahknani's chest and exposed her breasts. They bounced as he thrusted into her, and the courtesan's fingertips traced around her erect nipples. Aegon continued to push, faster and faster, his member pulsing, his body tingling and numb and hot all at the same time. He couldn't hold himself any longer.

He finished, pushing into Nahknani deep, and held her there against the wall, the courtesan gently caressing their sweating bodies. Out of breath and in ecstacy, Aegon tried to speak, but he couldn't, as his legs quivered underneath the fully euphoric feeling from his heart to the tip of his dick. "Was that as good for you as it was for me, sweetlings?" She asked, readjusting her silk doublet and trousers.

The two of them sighed and smiled. Aegon put Nahknani back down, and both put the rest of their clothes back on. "It seems your friends are still going." Lady Belaerys said, referring to Chekka and Trihknee who were still on the dais.

"I'm all settled on that front, may we depart your company, my Lady. Nahknani and I would retire for the evening." Aegon said, showing as much upper class etiquette as he could remember.

"What the fuck are you asking me for?" she replied. "I'm as drunk as either of you, and we're on your fucking boat. Well, it will be mine soon, but for, now. For now, its yours. Still."

"Good evening Lady Belaerys," Nahknani said, nodding and pulling Aegon away.

"Good to meet you, Nahknani. Aegon. Good night."

In the morning, the two ships made their way towards shore. Lady Belaerys said the volcano wasn't and knew of a cove they could dock in that would keep them hidden while they landed. From there, she said, she knew nothing of the land, but as far as run ins with corsairs went, meeting her and her crew went about as well as anyone could ever dream. Chekka and Trihknee connected. They connected seemingly all night, according to some of the crew. Aegon and Nahknani got lucky in more ways than one, and more than once. And all were still alive. Aegon though _when I said we're fucked, I didn't mean it that way._ He chuckled to himself.

"Join us, Lady Belaerys. We mean to kill slavers and end their plot against the Brindled Men. We could use a crew like yours." Aegon asked as they began docking the ship to depart.

"This seems a suicide mission to me. No need to get involved with any of that righteous bullshit. Good luck, and all, but we won't be joining you anytime soon." She replied.

"We need that keg of black charcoal for what we are to do." Aegon said.

"You don't get this whole pirate thing do you. I could have already killed you a hundred times or more. The only reason I let you live is because it was more fun to watch you fuck than to see you struggle for air." She said coldly. "But fine, the barrel is yours."

They unloaded the ship and climbed ashore. Aegon took some rope and fashioned straps to hold the barrel as they traveled with it. Two people could hold it or one person could hold it on their back with their two arms through the handles. As Aegon's group set off on foot and Lady Belaery's set off with their two ships into the Summer Sea, Aegon wished her farewell, "Good luck, my Lady. Hope to never see you again."

"Good luck, Aegar. May you find what you're looking for." She yelled as the golden boat Terrax made its way out into the Summer Sea.


	41. Chapter 41

41

While still aboard the boat, loading up the row boats to ferry to shore, Aegon asked Lady Belaerys, "How close are we to the volcano?"

She curtly responded still recovering from the previous night's libations, "Speak softer, gods." She rubbed her forehead and sat on a crate near the boarding ramp ordering her subordinates to assist. "Close enough," she continued. "We'll leave you enough provisions for the day. What kind of pirate would I be if I let you live _and_ let you keep your things? Gods, my head hurts from last night. Did I fuck you?"

"No," Aegon responded, thankful Nahknani was not within ear shot.

"That's a shame. I seem to remember seeing your member and thinking about it. No matter, maybe one day we'll meet again, Aegar." She nodded, then grimaced and rubbed her temples. "I need to stop drinking that home-made shit," she mumbled to herself and leapt into the ferry to properly see them to shore _._

"Lady Belaerys, since we're being honest, what is your true name?" Aegon asked as he jumped down himself, Nahknani was moments away about to board herself.

"You are a Westerosi. Only they give as much of a fuck as you do about names. But, no. I owe you nothing more. Besides, if I told you, they'd be no more mystery between us. Until next time." She smiled as if she was sure there would be, and Nahknani reached out her hand to Aegon's, boarding the rowboat herself. They set off to land and Aegon thought, looking at the Alroh as they left it. _That's the third ship I've captained and lost in less than as many moons._

Once the pirates were out of sight, the group waded their way from the shore to the edge of a forest. They landed at a crude dock the pirate courtesan knew about from her time trolling the Sothorosi coast. It was near a Sothorosi village. She said the natives sought to trade with corsairs, and barter fruit for the most worthless of plunder. The non-Brindled Sothorosi. This community seemed mostly meek in nature, she explained, though their traders never negotiated unarmed or without a guard large enough to deter looting. They weren't aggressive when unprovoked, but should be healthily respected if not based solely on their numbers alone, for their ability to inhabit and survive this deadly place.

Aegon felt uneasy about introducing himself to yet another society in this savage land, but with no choice, he felt it would be better to graciously asked to walk through their lands than to get caught sneaking through them.

It was only the four of them, and Lem, who he had thought they left behind again at Zamettar, but had snuck onboard the _Alroh_ and got himself stuck in a wares closet below deck until one of the Lady's men found him while drunkenly wandering the boat during their celebration. He was scared shitless of the boat and the noise, so, he must have run directly into Nahknani's sleeping arms and pushed Aegon aside from the sleeping cot they found to share. Not only did Aegon wake on the floor with his head feeling like it had been hit by a Brindled Man, he woke to Nahknani screeching in pure joy to Lem in her arms. _Sneaky bastard._

"She said to go this way, your grace," Chekka said, Trihknee beside him, seemingly his new shadow. The way she looked at Chekka was different than the way she once looked at Aegon. The way her eyes narrowed, it reminded him the way Nahknani's eyes seemed to smile at him. He felt good for his new friend Chekka. He was glad he had something new to fight for.

"Well, then let's go. Keep your weapons sheathed. No hero shit this time. We just want to walk through their land toward the volcano." Aegon said, taking the lead. He didn't mean to. It just naturally happened.

They walked cautiously on what looked like a trampled path, through thick dense brush and trees, the new morning sun high enough to light the way. The forest was raucously loud, birds, beasts, and all manner of insects cawing, humming, calling, and buzzing all around so incessantly and loudly, Aegon could hardly hear himself think.

The forest floor around him was dominated by a short bush, only inches off the ground, with thin broad, deep green leaves in a five sided shape, with a thin frilly mint border that trimmed each leaf like garland. There was an iridescent quality to the trim, and it glittered when the sun hit it from the right angle. The forest around them seemed to sparkle in the certain beams through the tall canopy, and the shining ribbons gave the forest a foggy effect, as if they were in a twinkling mist.

Tree branches sprouted unintelligibly in all directions from the surrounding trees; up, left, right, around, with no design or direction. They walked past them and when he turned, still looking, the branches seemingly shifted, reaching for the light beams with their branches spread like hands with twigs and leaves for fingers. He felt a chill slink down his spine and refocused on the beaten path looking for the native village.

With as much noise from the forest, they spoke little, mostly holding their heavy heads with an arm and swiping head level branches out of their faces. Chekka had it worst of all, the Knight of the Brindled Men delegated the custody of the black powder barrel, though he could hold it over his shoulder with relative ease.

As they were walking, Aegon noticed a thick winding vine wrapping around the trunk of a nearby tree. He imagined fashioning straps to help hold the barrel and wrap it around both of Chekka shoulders to free his hands and evenly distribute the weight. They stopped. Nahknani and Trihknee sat to eat some of the meager provisions the corsair courtesan allowed them to keep while Aegon cut down the vine and worked on lightening the load of the fire barrel.

It was moist for a vine, and softer than he expected, spongy to the touch as opposed to stiff, like a plant vine usually would be. It was also pale, almost ghostly white, with streaks of orange and green up it. When he pulled it down, he saw that it was held to the tree with the tiniest flanges, like a million tiny thin hairs with a bulb tip, and it seemed to be more adhered to the trunk than wrapped around it. It was strange, almost otherworldly, and it too seemed to have a slight iridescent quality up close. He wondered if it would glow by nightfall.

Though unconventional, it had enough strength and flexibility to wrap around and through small openings in the rim of the barrel, the slickness of it helping it through. "Here, good ser. Try this on for size."

Chekka took it, and tried it on his back. "That's much better than carrying it, your grace, but what's this little thing here?" He pointed to a polyp that grew up at the section that wrapped around his right shoulder. Aegon noticed whatever it was when he was working with it, but managed not to touch it. Not that he knew to avoid it or not, but it was a slick white stem the size of a pink man's finger that ended in a semi-translucent milky sphere covered in pock marks, slightly oozing, so he thought it too gross to touch. Chekka flicked it, and a cloud of thousands of miniscule spores burst out and quickly dispersed in the air. Chekka shook his head, squinting, and sneezing. A smaller cloud had been sucked into his face by his breath, and lingered there for a heartbeat until the first sneeze sent the tiny black specs into thin steaks that scattered in the air around them. Aegon covered his mouth and nose not to breathe them in, but he rushed to Chekka with a water skin to rinse his eyes, nose, and mouth.

Chekka began a sneezing fit, unable to break the chain of consecutive reactions to the spores. He tried to talk, laugh, and eventually gulp for air, but it continued so long, the situation became more alarming.

Aegon poured the water into Chekka's hands and encouraged him to rub his face. Then he splashed more straight from the water skin. Then he poured the rest. Chekka continued to sneeze. Trihknee rushed over, took the fabric of her pack, and rubbed his face. He still sneezed a few more times before taking in a deep breath, his eyes welled with tears and bloodshot, then he coughed and began laughing heartily.

"For a moment, I thought I'd be taken out by plant." They all had a quick laugh after the episode, though Aegon still wondered how perilous a situation it was. Chekka looked to be fine, however, and they set back off into the forest, following the makeshift path toward what they were told would be a shanty town or jungle village.

They walked for a half mile more before the forest opened up to a small clearing. The crudely stamped leaf covered jungle path merged into a more intently laid one, with stones that looked to border it for either some functionality he didn't understand, or aesthetics. Either would speak to a level of civility and sophistication, so it potentially was a positive sign.

"Look," Nahknani said, pointing down the new path. _That is not a positive sign._

It was hard to tell exactly what once was, but what was now was little more than rubble and charcoal. The path emptied into a razed village, crushed, burned, and crumbled by battle or a ransacking. Aegon had seen cities the Dothraki had sacked, he'd raided villages pirates had pillaged before the Captain got there to trade, but he'd never seen anything like this. This. . . final.

He could never know what it was like before, but the remnants of the settlement were expansive for a jungle shanty town. Foundations of at least one larger structure, built of stone and mortar, was visible from the distance, but it seemingly was crushed almost down to the ground in most sections, less than two feet of height to any wall.

They rushed closer, if only to understand what they were looking at. As they drew near, more and more evidence of destruction was visible. What happened here was recent. Some of the coals were still smoldering around the fractured pieces of the destroyed daub and waddle buildings, standing like shards of shattered glass. Rubble from the stone building was spread from the center of the village to all corners of the settlement, covering almost every inch with a fine powder of rock and mortar or chunks of singed rock.

Once they reached the beginning of the ruins, the scene worsened, drastically. From afar, only the damage to the buildings was evident. Up close, they could see the fates of many of the population. Bodies were strewn everywhere amidst the rubble and ruins. Charred bodies. Stripped bodies. Flayed bodies. Half bodies. Limbs. Entrails. Children. All the horrors of the known world were on display. The gory undertones of humanity, boiled down to its basest forms: torture, destruction, and murder. For what? What could be the justification for all this?

Aegon looked around as the group collectively slowed, then stopped once they reached the rubble, looking around at the carnage with their mouths all similarly agape with shock and awe. It was painful to take in the sights with their eyes, mixtures of blood red and charred black stained every surface. It was hard to handle the smells. Rotting charred flesh from the two scores of bodies and the stinging scent of sulfur offered a preview of the seven hells. This was the deepest and darkest level laid bare for them to witness first hand.

The honorable instincts in him brought Aegon to start to search the rubble for survivors. He rushed to a pile of crushed stone and daub and waddle dust and started to dig into it, pulling the large chunks off and digging through the gravel. He reached the bottom. Just more bodies.

He tried three more times. Once under a blackened and cracked log which could have once been a beam. Another behind a half standing wall. And lastly, beneath another pile of rubble across from the stone building's foundation. There was nothing but death and debris. He dropped to his knees, caked in sweat and dust, and conceded. There was nothing anyone could do for this place. It was gone. Erased.

As Trihknee and Chekka stood still stuck in a silent shock, Nahknani rushed over to console Aegon, whose face was retched with despair and angst. He thought of so many questions as his mind raced around the scene and his imaginings of what occurred to incite such disaster, but each question all boiled down to one: _Why?_

"There's nothing anyone could have done." She said, standing above and behind him, gently touching his shoulder.

"There's always something someone could have done. And there's always nothing." He stood and turned to her. "This is what the weapon can do. Look," he pointed, "all the rocks and dust seemed to have blown from those central points. See the circular patterns there, there, and there. They used it on this village, probably for show. To see what it could do. But why kill all these people? Why not use them as slaves?"

Aegon thought for an explanation, but then again conceded. _It doesn't matter now. Not to these people._

Their plan was to walk to and through this village continuing east towards the volcano. Lady Belaerys hinted at the people potentially offering up help freely if they were able to explain their situation with the slavers, but even if they didn't provide provisions, they could help them better navigate where they intended to go. Now, they'd have to find their own way. There wasn't anyone left.

"Who could have done this?" Chekka asked Aegon as he and Nahknani rejoined the new couple.

"Who do you think?" Aegon asked.

"Aegon showed me the circles. He thinks it's the fire magic weapon."

"So this was the slavers?" Chekka asked. Trihknee seemed to understand as well.

"Who is the easy question. It had to be them. If it wasn't, then we may have just as big a problem wandering through these woods, but unless there's a dragon somewhere in this jungle, there's no doubt it was the slavers, and they used the weapon. The harder question is why? Why would slavers kill potential slaves? Why waste the weapon on such a small poor village?"

Trihknee spoke in their tongue, understanding what they were saying but unable to speak her answer back in Valyrian. "What did she say," Aegon asked when she finished.

Chekka looked at him and said, "How could anyone do this no matter the reason why? That is the question. That is why we are all still here, doing this impossible thing. Because people that can do this must die themselves. Is what she said more or less."

"She says it true." Aegon said, nodding to Trihknee.

They were collectively done thinking of the horrors of this place. It only quickly served to refocus their fervor in their will to defeat the enemy. Then, it became too depressing to stay, and they all anxiously wanted to leave. A site of such human evil was cursed with bad spirits, the Brindled Men explained. He couldn't argue with a site as horrific as this.

They circled the clearing, looking for another path to take them east. The sun was above them, so it wasn't as easy to travel east as the morning had been, but they knew from the road they had taken which direction they were going in, so they couldn't get turned around. Aegon made sure remembering the last time he did.

Trihknee found it and beckoned them all over to her. It was marked with the same rocks, and they took that for good enough of a sign to trust it and ventured further. _Onward. Forward._

They were glad to be beyond the village, but the visions of it still lingered, seared into his memory most likely forever, panging at his conscience as if he were somehow guilty in a way. He wasn't, and couldn't be. But the feeling was still hard to shake. It was logical to understand he was blameless in this atrocity, but there was nothing logical about what he just saw.

They walked in a single file formation, the path thin and crowded by dense shrubs on each side. The plant he'd seen on their way here was growing along with other shrubs and greenery, but the glittering leaves were now taller, four feet off the floor, and the sparkling haze was now at eye level, and became part of their sight, a fantastical addition that seemed funny. It was off, but pleasantly off.

They all started to talk and giggle, which was odd given the scene they just left. The glitter haze had a queer effect, and Aegon felt he should warn his friends. He spoke out in the common tongue, "Our eyes and pelts are boisonberries." _What? What the fuck did I just say?_

"What?" Chekka said. Then he continued, though his voice seemed deeper and slower, "What the fuck did you just say?" He said it in Valyrian. _Was it a coincidence he said exactly what I just said or are these the effects of the plant?_

"Oo ahk tis nahkka ahn laggen fahrfenah." Trihknee said, her eyes wide and her pupils dilated.

"Oost ahk tu fahk dihk you just say?" Nahknani said, mixing her tongue and Valyrian. Aegon's head was spinning thinking so many meaningless questions afraid to speak more gibberish. They were all saying the same sentence in different words, then spouting nonsense nonsensically. It was nonsensical.

The glittering forest swirled loosely, slinking saunterously so softly, such soothing sounds seemed stuck in his stunted sense station. _What the fuck?_ His mind was slipping and the world was spinning and sparkling and wonderfully weird as . . as . .

"Where are we?" Trihknee said in Valyrian. "When did I learn to speak this shitty tongue? I can understand it, but never speak. Now speak?"

"It's the plants, keep moving, they are afff," his mouth stammered and his mind almost forgot what he was saying, refocusing on a melting tree trunk that seemed both inches away from his face, and thousands of miles away. "The plants are fucking with us." He screamed, an excited child, excessively pleased that he remembered what he meant to say.

"It isn't so bad," Nahknani said, twirling one way as the forest around her twirled the other. "The lights need save thorn victors and such. Hmm." She smiled and laughed, hearing the nonsense and allowing it to be funny. Aegon was less amused and becoming increasingly anxious and fearful. Then that overwhelming feeling subsided and he felt giddy again.

Through the brush, a middle-aged man descended on them, from where Aegon might never know, and stood one legged, one armed, in front of them.

"Guys, can you see him too?" Aegon asked. The girls turned to look and nodded, their mouths agape and seemingly of little use. Chekka was still looking around his surroundings momentarily sequestered in his own reality, looking at his hands as if he'd never seen them before.

"What brings you to these woods?" the voice said in Valyrian. _Even this Sothorosi apparition speaks better Valyrian that me._

"Are you the ghosts of the village we passed?" Aegon asked.

"In a matter of speaking, yes," he said. He was dark of skin, and gaunt. Thin to the point of sickly. He had thin salted black hair that grew in curled tufts on the side of his head, with a smooth brown runway between them, which glistened with glittered sweat.

"What is wrong with me? Us?" Aegon asked.

"Ahk tu ihk noonoo noo? Noo?" Nahknani said, trailing into hysterical laughter with Trihknee.

"You are under the influence of the shimmershrubs. My people are immune to the powder in small doses, but its quite potent the first time. You will all sit. Find somewhere comfortable enough."

Without knowing why, he looked around him for a seat. _It feels like I'm not doing this._ He found a flat root and sat down slowly on it. It looked to be moving. The rest of them all sat too. Even Chekka, who hadn't yet acknowledged the one arm and one-legged man. His face looked like it was surprised to feel his body sit, but he still couldn't form words or even thoughts. Or so it looked. Aegon tried to remain focused on figuring out what was happening, but his mind continued to falter into thoughts of ridiculous frivolity and whimsy. He also seemed extremely suggestable.

"Throw your weapons to me," he said. And they did. All with puzzled looks on their faces.

"I will now ask you who you are. You will answer me. If I deem you enemies, you will shoot each other with this. You look to be the leader here," he said to Aegon. "It will be you that shoots first."

Aegon took the crossbow, which was already loaded with a bolt, unwillingly, as his mind struggled to control his outstretched arm and hand receiving it from the man.

"What brings you to our village?" He asked.

Aegon answered, "We were captured by a pirate who ended with sympathy for our cause and suggested we reach out to your people, or village. Or people's village. Or what it was."

"Ah, you must mean the Lady Belaerys, a beauty, isn't she?" He asked with a wry smile. His face was lined with hard years, and his eyes hid whatever soul he had left, but his smile was bright and warming.

"She is," Aegon said, then turned to Nahknani to see her fury. "I didn't mean to say that," Aegon continued.

"Nothing you say here will be under your control. You are under the influence of the shimmershrub, and on top of the altered senses you are feeling, you are also all completely susceptible to my suggestion. I could make you all kill each other if I so choose, but I want to hear the rest of this story. Anything involving the Beautiful Pirate Lady is worth hearing," he said.

"Did you want to fuck her, Aegon? Did you want to finally taste her sweet pink meat?" Nahknani asked, snarling, knowing this was her chance at absolute truth.

"No. I think I'm in love with you," he said.

"This is an entertaining interrogation, and I thank you already for the show. If you are not my enemies, you can continue this truth telling all you'd like. The effects will last for more than an hour. Continue with why you are here. What cause is this you speak of?"

"The slavers have been working with a Brindled Man and enslaving their people. He has created a weapon and is mining it somewhere near the volcano east of here. The four of us are going there to try and stop him, though admittedly, I haven't exactly figured out how in seven hells four people, as Brindled or magical as they be, have any chance at all against what we've heard is in the hundreds of soldiers and slaves." Aegon said, admitting too much of his inner doubt aloud.

"You mean to stop this man?"

"We all do," Chekka said.

"We all do," Trihknee added.

"Whatever the cost. This all must be stopped," Nahknani concluded.

"You are not my enemies then. In fact, you may be the only friends a poor old man like me has left in this wretched world. The village you passed was my village. The men you seek to stop are the perpetrators of this horrific crime, but the fault is mine." He bowed his head in apparent shame. The drug was less silly now, but still he felt the effects as his mind jumped from thought to thought trying to figure out this strange man.

"They used the weapon on the village. It was blown to bits with a powder they've made. We have some here, with us, on his back," Aegon pointed.

"Why does he do all the talking?" Trihknee asked.

"He's the fucking Drahkness Kahn, babe," Chekka said.

"You have the weapon with you?!" He asked, angered by its presence. "Why do you have it here, and on your back of all places? Do you know what it does?"

"No," Chekka answered. "I know it is bad shit. We mean to use it against bad people."

"In truth, I don't know how it works either." The man said. "I've seen them light fire to it, then it reacts. But a substance so volatile, it might explode from mere jostling. I see now why you would risk carrying it. What better to bring upon the destruction of these creatures than the product of their own dark design?"

"Do you know what happened in your village? Why they took it so far?" Aegon asked.

"Under the influence of the shimmershrub, the only way you could ask that is if you deeply cared. So, for that you deserve an answer, though bare with me, it is a story a shudder to think of, much less tell to strangers." He cleared his throat and adjusted the loose tattered robe he wore.

"It started a few moons ago," he began, "strange ships landed in the port we'd never seen before, so we went down to gauge their interest in trade. Many of the corsairs that patrol the Summer Sea find things we value, so we provide quick nourishment we have in excessive supply and they give us things their trading world would never value as we do."

"What do you get from the pirates?" Chekka asked.

"That doesn't matter, ser, let him finish his story," Aegon scolded.

"No, no. It is a common question from those new to our culture. We take the trinkets and bullshit that mean something to someone, but nothing to everyone else. Things that are new to the isolated people of our tribe. Anything that can break the monotony of this green cage our jungle has become. We have no scholars, no books, no art, no parchment. Anything from the world beyond our trees is a spark to the imagination of our thinkers and our youth. We trade what we have in excess for what we have nothing of."

"Ok," Chekka said, his tone trailing as if he didn't fully understand.

"Anyway," the man continued, "the men aboard these ships were not mere corsairs, they were the slavers you speak of and captured all of the men in our village old enough to work and young enough as to not die. Their leader, a huge smooth headed man with bronze skin and golden rings through his ears told us the men would be returned after twelve moon turns if they didn't fight back or flee. He said he was being a benevolent slaver, allowing them only a short term of service, so my people conceded and a group of men I led, marched to the mines you speak of."

"The mines were treacherous. Hot, steamy, and acidic mist hovered around the work station and the smell from the yellow rock was so foul, men died gagging to death, choking on their own vomit. It was no fit task for men to undertake, which is why he was only using slaves to do his work for him. More and more of my men, along with countless others from other stolen groups were dying in droves, so much so, I couldn't take it and wanted to stop them."

"I to fought them. I organized the slaves and led a small revolt, killing many of their soldiers and causing a partial collapse in one of the shafts. It had taken two moons to get to where we were in that mine, finally able to pull out more of the yellow stone. But eventually, his soldiers overwhelmed us and beat us back. We lost, and everyone confessed it was I who led them."

"To make an example, he removed my arm and my leg. He said that if I didn't want to work, he would grant my wish, making me useless, and thus free from my workload, which I would have accepted. But then he tied me and took me to my village, where he did all of what you saw, and worse. He tortured all of my people, little by little, in all the horrible ways one could imagine, and then some. There is nothing this man wouldn't do, no choice too dark, no measure too far. He slaughtered my entire village whether they were kin or not, and razed the buildings with the youngest tied to those barrels. Then he left me here. One armed and one legged in the ruins of all that I ever held dear."

The heavy hearts in all their chests were amplified by the effects of the plants, and all four of them began to cry in varying degrees of severity. Chekka bawled the loudest, his eyes dripping fountains and his face wrenched in agony.

"You are what I've prayed to the Great Chaka for. Salvation. You four seem on a mission to a certain death, and maybe a little revenge on my former captors. If you can promise me both, I will take you to the mines, though you'll have to wait for me to hobble through the trees. I don't move as well as I used to." The man said with a grin, his eyes filled with a little more soul again now that he found a new purpose.

Chekka responded, "I hope you live to see them all suffer, friend. Join us, and witness the glory of the Drahkness Kahn."


	42. Chapter 42

42

As the effects of the shimmershrub wore off, following this man was harder than they could have ever thought it would be. He said he didn't move like he used to, which could still be true, none of them had ever seen him before. The way he did move now though, was more than fast enough to keep the four of them moving full speed, and eventually tire them all out. With the crossbow on his back and a thick walking staff for a second limb, the man nimbly navigated the trampled path, to a smaller clearing, and then began a steep climb up a smaller hill in the direction he said the mines were.

"Soon the effects of the plant will have totally run their course. There is a hot spring upon a plateau not far from here, with clean water, and a place to rest. We will camp there for the night, but we must move. We will have just enough light to get there." He said, planting his staff and bounding up the first steps of the steep hill they were to scale.

The thick forest cleared into rocky terrain that broke up the plant life from dense trees and shrubs to little more than patches of grass and moss amongst cracked and eroded white stone formations. Through the distant mists clouding the horizon, he thought he could see the peak of the volcano, though it was still tough to make out. Nearer to them, shorter mountains crested into the cloudy blue sky above them, no less impressive than the taller chain that hid in the distance, but it was the rock hill in front of them they needed to climb first, if they needed to climb the mountains at all. They were all still slightly influenced, and they hadn't yet asked their guide of his intended plans.

Under the influence, Aegon had almost forgotten about Lem, who followed behind about a half mile or so, foraging for food, but still within distance that Aegon could hear him yelp. The pup was becoming more independent, which was good. Eventually, he could no longer follow them for one reason or another and Aegon didn't want the foolhardy pup risking his life anymore than he already had for him. Plus, he'd ruin any stealth mission for sure.

After climbing for a short time, exerting himself enough to sweat out most of the toxins from the shimmershrub, his mind started to think more clearly again. He watched his guide sprawling up the steep hill floor with ease, switching from arm, to staff, to foot, spinning and shifting his bodyweight to climb as fast or faster than all of them. Chekka brought up the rear, climbing on all fours with the barrel still strapped to his back. From time to time, Aegon caught him scratching his head, and smacking it with a closed fist to the temple. Something was off, but Aegon didn't pay it any more mind than acknowledging it to consider later.

Aegon thought and spoke to their guide, "You've told us much, kind ser, but do tell us your name so we know what to call you."

"My name is Sensou. And your names?" he asked.

"I am Aegon. That is Nahknani. That is Trihknee. And my big friend with the barrel is Chekka."

"I see," he said, still climbing deftly. "So, they are natives here, to our land, west of here I believe. But you, you are not of here. You look Valyrian, though even we know the demise of the Freehold. What brings you to our land, Aegon?"

"I'm here quite by accident, Sensou. I never intended to come here. I was shipwrecked and eventually found Nahknani under a fallen tree during the storm and saved her. I've been with her since, and events have brought us here." Aegon replied.

"There are no accidents, Aegon, I assure you," he said, stopping and turning to look at him. "Especially for you to be here to do what you're doing. That is no accident. 'Events' you say brought you here." He laughed aloud. "Ha. No. That is destiny."

 _Destiny again_ he thought, smirking and chuckling to himself. There was no response appropriate for the moment, so he just remained quiet for the rest of the climb, as did the rest, either still suffering from the plant, or tired from the exertion of the climb.

Sensou reached the peak of the last leg of the climb first, which had increased in grade from a steep slope to a vertical wall almost. He could still scale it, using the stump of his severed arm to hold the staff in his armpit. Of all the incredible things he'd witnessed since washing ashore the Green Continent, Sensou's climbing might have been the most impressive.

Aegon climbed over next, seeing Sensou's camp now that his village was reduced to ashes and dust. It consisted of a small pile of dead grass and leaves next to a sack full of round juicy fruit, three clay brown jugs, and two deep, handmade, mud and straw bowls full of water next to them. To the left of where he slept, was the remnants of a fire and the butchered carcass of a deer-like animal, skinned and half carved stretched over a rock ledge near the cliff edge of the plateau.

"You must be hungry. Help yourself to whatever you like. I'll get a fire going." He said, beckoning Aegon sit near where the fire was and soon would be. "Take a fruit, they are from the grove just north of my village. The slavers didn't know about it or I'm sure they would have burned and demolished it as well."

Aegon took three of the fruits from the bag, turned and asked, "Is there clean water I can drink?"

"The water in the bowls is fresh. The jugs still need to be filtered." Sensou said, and he hobbled over with some kindling to start a fire.

"Of what?" Aegon asked

"The grit that sometimes wells up from the springs. Sometimes its just dirt. Other times, its sulfuric, which can become acid if the water is too concentrated. I filter out the rocks and boil it just to make sure."

Aegon sat, ate, and drank. He left some water in the bowl for the rest, but he finished all three of the fruits before even the first of his group reached the plateau. Trihknee was next, followed shortly by Nahknani, then Chekka, who almost immediately put the barrel pack down, grabbed the rest of the water, and finished it. He almost grabbed the jugs, until Sensou warned him. The look in his eyes said he had half a mind to drink them anyway.

Sensou offered them all fruit and some cooked meat, some gaselleen and some local bird he said. They would rest here for the night, on the flat ground upwind from the geysers, before picking back up their climb to the top of another nearby hill on the morrow. With Aegon's mind now clearer, he had many questions for the worn man that lead them here.

"How far are we from the mines?" Aegon asked as they were all seated around a small fire the one-armed man lit while kneeling on his one leg and balancing with his walking staff. He snapped two things together, one looked a piece of metal, the other a smooth edged rock, and just like that his kindling caught and there was a fire for them to sit around and purify the remaining water.

"For a man with two legs," he said smirking, "not very far at all. Do you see that hill in the distance, near the foot of the bigger mountains?"

Aegon looked and saw it, peaking through the faint mist, "Yes. I see it. The mines are there?"

"There abouts. The mines are on the far side of that hill. Both the hilltop and the mountain across provide a good vantage point for the guard stations for the slave camp. If their forces are there in full, they could be five, maybe as much as six hundred strong. But usually, the forces are scattered, obtaining more slaves, fighting down a revolting village, and things slavers do. Their people," he pointed to the Brindled man and women, "have been much more active coming to and from. If you're lucky, they may only have as many as one or two hundred stationed there at any given time. But that's if you're lucky."

So far, other than a few serendipitous occasions, Aegon had not been so lucky here. Maybe his luck was changing though? This man happened to be here to guide them, but then again, what was he guiding them into?

Chekka very vocally and demonstratively stretched his arms and legs out, letting out a half roar half yawn, and started to rub his head. Aegon turned and asked, "Still feeling the effects of the shrub or is that from all the drinking and other things last night?"

Chekka failed to even raise his head to acknowledge Aegon, which was reasonable, but still out of character. Aegon followed up with, "Are you feeling okay?"

"No," he managed to say, so quickly it was almost under his breath. "My head feels like its buzzing inside. I don't think its from drinking or the shrub. It feels different."

"Different how?" Sensou asked. "Does it feel like your head is throbbing?"

"Not throbbing," Chekka replied, rubbing his temples. "It feels like its moving. It feels like something is crawling."

Sensou stood up and looked at Chekka more closely, going as far as to lift up the tufts of his mane that covered his ears to check them. "Have your ears been itching?"

"Not my ears," Chekka said.

"Good, then it's not the deathworm." Sensou confirmed.

"Deathworm?" Trihknee responded, her face now widened from the tired slouch she allowed herself to sink into after the climb. Worry building inside her, she moved closer to Chekka, touching his shoulder to both give and get comfort.

"Please, give him space, only a few things cause symptoms like this and it could spread." Sensou said. Trihknee didn't understand it all, but she did hear, "give him space," and "it could spread." She backed away, dragging her hand down and off his shoulder as if to try to console him for one last moment.

"Have you touched or eaten any fungi?" Sensou asked.

"What?" Chekka responded confused.

"Fungi. Fungus. Mushrooms and certain fungal growths release spores that can cause symptoms like this." Sensou added.

"Spores?" Aegon asked. Sensou nodded. "The vine I used to create the straps for the barrel had a bulb that popped and released spores."

"What color?" Sensou asked, his tone serious. He rushed over to the barrel to inspect the vine.

"The spores? Black." Aegon responded.

"Did he breathe them in?" He asked, studying the slick straps of the barrel pack. "Oon gato elcabre," he mumbled under his breath.

 _I don't know how he couldn't have._ "He must've. He flicked the bulb and thousands of spores filled the air. Then he started sneezing and couldn't stop for about ten minutes."

"Shit. Quickly, grab one of those jugs and fill the empty bowl. Put it in the fire to boil." He pointed towards the bowl and Aegon quickly followed orders. "You two," he said, pointing to the women, "do you know what Shyesh Shyii is? The flower?"

After addressing Nahknani and Trihknee, his eyes remained locked on them, waiting for an answer, as the two women twisted their faces in confusion searching for an acceptable response. "We no know this." Trihknee responded, her Valyrian improving.

"It is a small purple flower with four tear droplets as petals that grows from a shaggy stem. Ah. . . what do your people call it?"

"Bear tear? Behr terah. I've never seen it, but that's what it sounds like. It is very rare." Nahknani replied.

"Not here. If you go just there," he pointed, "there should be a small clearing. They shoot up here in the fertile volcanic soil. Grab the bottom of the hairy root and pull out as much as you can from the ground." He said, then quickly turned his attention to Chekka. The girls immediately understood the urgency and rushed over to find the plant. Aegon quickly returned with the water and held it over the flames.

"Be careful not to burn yourself," Sensou warned.

"I'll be fine."

The water boiled as the women returned with their hands full of the plants. Sensou had Chekka lie down, propping his back and legs up on logs to allow his head to lean back and down. "What I'm going to have to do to you will feel like torture, but the spores are now imbedded deep in your head and lungs, and they will eventually grow and control your mind. If they are allowed to continue, they will take over your body and force you to climb to the highest tree, clamp your arms and legs to the canopy, and another polyp will sprout from your forehead as the tentacles of the fungus expel from your decomposing body and wrap around the tree to anchor to it. This has happened to people from my village. We may have caught your case early enough, but we will have to kill the spores. The only way I know to do that is painful and terrifying."

"Do whatever. . . you must. Just stop this crawling." Chekka managed to mumble, both thousands of miles away and nowhere. His pupils empty. His stare worrying.

Sensou took the roots from the women and opened one, squeezing the juice from the fuzzy thick root into the boiling water. He opened two more and repeated draining them. Then, he separated the water from the heat until it stopped bubbling.

"Find the cloth over where I sleep. It should be where the bowls were. Shake it off and put it over his face." He said, then blew on the water to cool it.

Trihknee jumped first, sprinted to the cloth and came back with it in moments. Sensou took the cloth and laid it on Chekka's face, his chin pointed up in the air, the rest of his body elevated. "Ready yourself, my friend, this is going to be very uncomfortable."

He dipped a finger into the water. It was scalding hot and his fingers jumped out of it as fast as they went in. "A bit longer."

"You're going to be okay, big guy. Just hang in there." Aegon said, encouraging his new friend and the first to ever swear his sword. Aegon was concerned about the promise he swore himself to Shevrohn. _I was the one who pulled down the vine with this polyp and fastened it to him. Another decision as a leader that leads to the death of my friend._

Aegon tried not to think about it, but he was still haunted by the deaths of so many before, and Chekka began to writhe on his propped set up. "Only a few more moments," Sensou said, then blew the water again to cool it. "Best prepare the other bowl now, in case we need more." Sensou continued to blow, and nodded to Aegon towards the jug and other bowl. He obliged, which gave his mind a moment of respite from the intense guilt racking his nerves and soul.

When Aegon's back was turned, he heard Sensou warn Chekka, "Prepare yourself, my friend. We're going to begin." He pointed to Trihknee, "You," he said. She pointed to herself as if to acknowledge him. He continued, "I haven't done this since losing my other arm. Pick this up and pour it on the cloth."

"But this will choke him." She replied in Valyrian.

"No. It will drown him. But he'll breathe in the essence of the Shyesh Shyii, and it will clear him of the fungi. He may lose his air, and we may need to give it back. But this is the only way."

Everyone was looking at Trihknee waiting on her next move which seemed to take an eternity, Aegon's heart pumping faster and faster, with the next bowl full and over the flames. _Do it_ he thought. She looked down at Chekka and said, "Ihk ahk ku noo nohmoo." Then she tipped the bowl over.

"Steady. Pour a slow, steady stream," Sensou said. Nahknani translated to ensure Trihknee understood. The Brindled twin poured, her face sullen, grave even, for the first time Aegon had ever seen. The clear brown liquid steamed out of the bowl, and as it hit the cloth, Chekka roared a mix of a scream and a gurgle that curdled the blood coursing through Aegon's veins. He began to jolt, and twitch wildly. The one armed man reached to hold him down, but flailed in the air as the enormous body convulsed defensively and volleyed their guide almost clear across the plateau. Sensou jumped back on top his body, yelling, "Someone help hold him down." Chekka was able to fight for the cloth and rip it off his face. He popped his body, sitting straight up on the raised platform they created for his gargantuan frame, and gasped desperately for a gulp of air. His eyes widened. The tendons in his neck were bulging. He looked desperately to Aegon, trying to speak, breathe, and stand all at once. His dilated pupils spoke to an understandable panic, as his paw reached toward his liege.

Aegon grasped it and stood close to the warrior. "You're going to make it through this. It was the stupid fucking plant for the barrel. I thought I was helping. I should've just made you carry that fucking thing on your back the whole way. I'll be right here with you. Just hold my hand and trust us. You're not dying here."

"Ser," he said, just above a whisper.

"What did you say?" Aegon asked.

"You're not dying here, ser. Don't forget the, ser, your grace." He smiled the best he could. "I earned it."

He squeezed Aegon's hand so hard, Aegon felt the wound at the tip of his missing finger open. "Do it," Chekka demanded, breathing heavy, hard, and panicked.

"I'm right here. You're going to be fine," Aegon kept repeating to Chekka and himself. "Just a couple minutes of hell is all." Aegon said, as Chekka laid back down, both seemed to be coping with the overwhelming fear of the moment the best they could, their clasped hands gently trembling. Sensou placed the cloth back down on Chekka's terrified face. Aegon nodded to Trihknee, and she began to pour again, sobbing silently to herself as she watched the steaming water splash down onto the cloth and the outline of Chekka's drowning face peer through the wet cloth clinging to his skin and airway like tar.

His body fought under Aegon despite his will to allow the treatment, and the defensive twitches and thrashes his muscles instinctively employed almost sent Aegon flying into the fire. Aegon recovered, holding down his struggling friend, only to feel all the more atrocious as he watched the shape of his face gasp desperately for air underneath the stream of scalding medicated water and soaking wet cloth.

"Just a bit longer," Sensou said, retreating from the flailing Brindled body to empty more root juice into the bowl of new boiling water. Trihknee had tears streaming from her eyes. Nahknani was frozen behind her, sitting, hugging her knees and hiding her face. She would look and then hide her eyes and then look again. Aegon kept looking around trying not to see the drowning face of another friend. He closed his eyes and saw Lem's final face. He opened them back up to Chekka's drowning apparition beneath the cloth.

"Enough. Stop pouring. Lift the cloth." Trihknee stopped pouring and Aegon released his hold and snatched the cloth. Chekka convulsed, twitched, twitched, twitched. Then his fierce amber eyes rolled to the back of his head.

"He's dying!" Aegon screamed, his heart racing faster than in the midst of battle. "Do something." Aegon stood over him, looking for an answer in his head. He saw the whites of Chekka's eyes and the twitching of his now limp body, struggling to think of a solution. He'd always been able to think in the heat of adversity, either in battle, on the seas, or at market. Whether being chased by corsairs, keepers of the peace, or fathers of girls Lem wooed in port, he prided himself in how he could keep his mind enough at ease to think of what to do. This was different. He was powerless. And in that exact moment, Aegon was paralyzed with one clear painful thought. _My friend is dead, and I killed him._

Sensou spoke calmly and assertively, "Now we wait. He is not lost. That is the effect of the Shyesh Shyii. It is starving the brain of air, which will quickly kill the spores. When he stops moving, we will bring him back-"

"Bring him back! We fucking killed him!" Trihknee said, enraged. Her irises almost as red as a flame.

"I will give him back breath, and he will return to us. Then we must do it once more. The whole thing." Sensou's voice was steady and grim. He stated it as if it were easy to accept, but not only did they kill him, they'd have to kill him again.

Aegon, being a sailor, knew what Sensou was trying to explain. Nautical men of Westeros, whether it be the fanatical worshipers of the Drowned God of the Iron Islands, or the typical Northern Sailor out of White Harbor, knew or had heard that those recently drowned could be given breath again with pumps to the heart and air directly into the mouth. Aegon had only ever seen it attempted once before, but the lad didn't make it. He'd been under for too long.

Aegon's head jerked back from the guide to his friend, as he sensed the movement and noises starting to fade. His body twitched for the last time, and his head rolled to the side, his mouth dropped, and his tongue hung out the corner of his mouth. "I think it's time."

"Do you know how, Valyrian." Sensou asked.

"I've only ever seen it attempted."

"Push the chest, I'll give the breaths. Just do exactly as I say and your friend will pop back up like he was merely asleep." He reached out to assure Aegon, who shook away his one-armed advance and scowled.

"Just fucking do it. Hurry up." Aegon scolded with an uncontrollable anger.

Sensou calmly responded, "Feel for his chest for the thick bone in the center of his breast plate. Make sure your hands are not too low toward where the bone breaks off into a v-shape. When you've found it place both palms on top of each other and flat against the chest." As Sensou directed, Aegon followed orders, quickly and calmly placing his hands in the position he was instructed. "Now," he continued, "Press straight down into his chest firmly until it compresses, then let it back up, and push down again five times. I'll count. Remember push hard enough for the bones to compress down. You have to pump his heart."

Aegon took a deep breath in, and nodded, his two hands flat against the hairy chest of his friend. Sensou kneeled over Chekka's head, propping himself up with his arm. "One," he counted. Aegon pushed hard, or so he thought. "No, it has to compress. Push straight down. One!" Aegon closed his eyes and pushed, his elbows locked, his weight over his arms. He pushed down, the bones beneath his palms cracked, and in his head he kept thinking _what have I done?_ desperately trying to holding himself together and composed to help save his friend. "Good," Sensou, said, "Now, two."

Aegon pushed again, "Three. Four. Five. Stop." Sensou lowered himself, almost as if he were kissing the giant head, and blew air into his open mouth. Chekka's chest rose, as their guide inflated his limp body with his breath. Sensou stopped, took in another large gulp of air, and repeated.

"Again. Push. One. Two. . ." They continued two more cycles. On the second breath of the third cycle, Chekka's eyes snapped open like a bear trap, and his body jolted up to a sitting position gasping and choking for air. He coughed, grasping for both Aegon and Trihknee, choking down air like it was the last cask of wine at a wedding, half smiling, half crying in terror. He moaned for the shortest moment after each breath, first, as if each were a struggle, then exaggerated it a bit longer, joyful for each additional opportunity for air.

Trihknee grabbed his face and looked into his eyes. She smushed his cheeks together and kissed him. She stroked his mane from out of his face and back, until his widened pupils adjusted and he could almost smile.

"What. ." he stammered, "what happened."

"I'm sorry, my friend. We have to do it once more. The sooner the better. Put your trust in me just once more."

"It went black. It all went black." He said, desperately. There was a sense of childish fear in his voice.

"We're here, mahk tahk nee hun. Oo ahk tee nah nee nahk tu." Trihknee said, then she lowered her head and touched her forehead to his. "Ahk un ihk ahk nah."

"Un ihk ahk nah," he replied, gripping her head, pulling it down, and kissing her on the crown of her messy brindled mane. "Hold me down, your grace," he said, coughing. "If you're puny body has the strength." He took a deep breath, then exhaled, then took another breath. "I'm ready. Put the cloth on." He was holding Trihknee's hand now. Aegon gripped across his chest to hold him down.

They repeated the process. His body seized, and went limp again, and Sensou and Aegon knew exactly what to do. After four times, he didn't wake up though.

"Stay calm. Keep pushing when I say so. He _will_ wake up." Sensou said, smooth and sure.

Inside his own head, Aegon couldn't concentrate on anything more than a moment. What logic he still was capable of convinced him he was going into a shocked state, barely remembering a moment of the second drowning. He tried not to focus on the horrific clothed expressions of Chekka's covered face, his body wriggling against all Aegon's strength to survive. Struggling for freedom. For life.

Aegon tried to escape in his mind with happy thoughts of his youth, of his friends, of better times. But all he could ever focus on for even the slightest of moments were the times laughing with Lem, then he saw Lem's final face again, and immediately flashed back to the present. To Chekka's final face.

Aegon pushed, and pushed, and pushed, and pushed. Sensou breathed and breathed. Nahknani held a sobbing Trihknee in her arms, consoling her in their tongue, as the Brindled twin struggled from barely keeping composed, to sudden outbursts of anguish and pain, gut-wrenching and almost as agonizing to the ear and soul as the sight of his lifeless face was to the eyes. It hadn't been long, but whatever they shared must have meant something deep to her. _It can't end like this. C'mon!_

They kept cycling through. Four, then five times. Aegon pushed, and pushed, and pushed, four, five. Sensou breathed. Nothing. He gulped in air, blew in again.

Chekka's chest rose, as it did every useless time before. Then Chekka coughed, gasped, jolted up again, and threw up water. Aegon sighed as his chest lightened and his ass unclenched. Trihknee sobbed even more loudly. No one could tell what emotion was leaving her, but they could all hear it, likely everyone for miles could. Nahknani froze, allowing Trihknee to get up and tackle Chekka who was still trying to catch his breath and fully wake up from death.

"Easy. He will need space. And time." Sensou said, calmly directing Trihknee off of his struggling patient.

"Time," Aegon said, immediately regretting asking so soon. His mind went from relief to concern for the mission. "How long?" He finished, sensing it too late to take back the sentiment.

"Days. Weeks even, before he can carry your barrel. We have just killed him twice, surely he can spare a few days to rest."

"He'll have all the rest he needs." Aegon said, extending his arm in a Westerosi gesture. He grapsed his hand and shook it up and down. "Thank you, Sensou. Thank you for saving my friend. It was my fault he had those spores. If he were to die, I would have never been able to forgive myself." _Not that I can even now._ "When all this is over, I promise you will be rewarded in whatever way I can."

"The only reward I ask is revenge and an honorable death."

"Enough death for today," Nahknani said. "The sun is setting and we should prepare to make camp soon."

"Night can come all it wants, after dying twice," Chekka said, panting, still catching his breath, "I'm not going to sleep ever again."

"Unfortunately, you are wrong, ser." Sensou said. "You need to drink this now. It's a mixture of a plant that will help make sure the treatment takes and something to help you to sleep. The spores were killed without air, but they still need to be flushed from your system. Drink. Drink."

"What is it?"

"You don't want to know." Sensou said. Then he smirked. "I jest. Some call it poppy mixed with an herb we call The Gentle Tide. It washes away the evils in your blood. The poppy will make you sleep so you don't feel the fever that burns off the toxins."

Chekka begrudgingly took his prescribed medication and quickly made himself comfortable in their guest's sleeping station. "It's the least he can do for me. After what he put me through, he's lucky he's alive."

"You are too." Aegon said smiling, though underneath it his heart saddened a bit. Now that Chekka would be unable to continue, Aegon had all but determined his plan in his head.

_Onward. Forward._


	43. Chapter 43

43

"Who will stand watch through the night?" Aegon asked, as Sensou and Nahknani were the only ones left awake. Trihknee tended to Chekka as he passed into a slumber, and started to dab him with the cloth as he sweat out the toxins. Sensou said it was unnecessary, but the Brindled twin answered him with a grunt, twisting her brow, and continued to dab him with the same wet cloth used to drown him not even an hour earlier. She quickly tired herself, curled up behind him, holding him like he'd just as soon run, and fell asleep.

"I will take the first watch," Sensou said, perched atop a smooth rock looking over the clearing below. The sky was full of twinkling stars, much easier to see in the open than under the canopy of the forest, and they were enough to light their immediate surroundings in the dead of the evening. "You will come and relieve me for the second watch. You will know when to come." He nodded at Aegon as if he knew something that Aegon didn't. Or he knew something that no one else but Aegon could know.

"Come. I need you." Nahknani said, her eyes smiling, her lips pouting. The emotional rush of Chekka's deaths and the lingering effects of the shimmershrub only intensified the already traumatic and triumphant experience. Her extended arm hung, waiting for his hand to meet hers. His heart sank a little to see her once again glowing in the dim light of the remaining flames, and the distant glimmer from the stars that lit the open sky.

His hand met hers, and she clutched it, hard and desperate. She pulled him to his feet and they escaped to the site they chose to pitch their tent. He watched her lead as they walked, trying to slow time down, consuming and savoring every gesture and motion. The way her auburn hair bounced from side to side with each step, a cascade of springs, coiled and dancing, glowing that fiery orange he'd become obsessed with. The way her calves flexed as she planted each step, the curves of her long, shaped legs, and the ass they led up to, which flowed smoothly, rolling on impact, and snapping firmly back into place. The way she rubbed his finger with hers as they held hands, gently sliding her thumb and fore finger up and down, which could mean she was thinking or anxious. She also did it when she wanted him. She also curled her toes. She didn't do that as they were walking, but he looked down to picture it and smiled.

"What's wrong with you. You're awfully quiet, and why do you keep smirking like that?" She asked after he continued drinking her in a good minute after they entered the tent, lying facing each other in the relative dark, only a dim glow from the fire highlighting the edges of their faces on one side.

"Nothing. It's nothing," he said, and continued to grin.

She rolled her eyes so dramatically he could still clearly see it in the dark, and rolled over onto her other shoulder with her back facing him. _No, not tonight._

"Why turn your back to me?" he asked.

"Nothing. It's nothing," she said. Inflecting her voice to mimic his.

"Okay, fine. After what happened today, you realize how briefly we get to live this life, and how quickly its gone." He admitted, to which she then turned around to face him again. He continued, "And as I lay here, a world away from anywhere I've ever known, I get to spend what little time I have with someone who would quite literally kill to be with me just one day longer."

"See, was that so bad to say?" she said and smiled so bright the tent seemed a bit brighter. "I want you to always tell me things, Aegon. That is how love is kind."

"This is love, now?" he asked, reaching out to twirl a lock of her hair.

"You said it. Under the spell earlier, you said it," she said, her tone argumentative. "What, do you regret saying it now that we both know it is true?"

"No, no. I just like to, you know, keep you on your toes." Aegon said.

"We are laying down right now," she said. He couldn't see but he knew how her eyebrow twisted.

"It means something different when you say it in my language. Never mind."

"Never mind what?" She asked, "I was talking about love, and you started talking about toes. You are one odd man." She batted the hand that was twirling her hair away, "No never mind, do you love me or not?" She propped her upper body up and rolled over him to both look sexy and take control. Her hair hung down, draping over her shoulder and covering half of her face. She shook it and peered down waiting for his answer.

"I do," he said.

"What?" she asked.

_I've loved you since the moment I opened my eyes in the dark to hear you save me. I loved you when you healed me, cut my finger off, and lit me on fire. I loved you when you defied your father's rule and followed me. I loved you when you hated the twins for wanting me. I loved you when you woke searching frantically for me after the boat and the way you walked away after tucking me in below deck, shaking your ass for me. I loved you in my dreams. I loved you in my thoughts. I loved you just before the kiss, and even more after._

_I love the way your eyebrow twists above those beautiful blue eyes. I love the way you pause, pondering almost audibly before saying or doing things. I love the way you laugh and smile. I love the way you smile, from the sinister playfully evil ones, to the genuinely happy and pleased._

_I'll love you even in this, even as I do this. I'm sorry, my love. Forgive me_

"I love you," he said, sure and smooth. He both proclaimed it and whispered it, saying it fully with his heart as much as his lips. "Is that what you wanted? To hear me say it. You've already heard it, so you know it is true."

"True love is kind, Aegon. True love can say it. The only pain in love is lies. If love stays true, truthful, love is forever kind." _Does she know_ he thought. _Am I that easy to read?_

"Are you afraid I will lie to you?"

"No. I'm afraid you will not tell me anything at all. Which is as much a lie as any." She said, then slipped the vine wrap off her shoulder and shrugged it loose, exposing her chest. Her soft supple breasts hung down and gently swung in the air like chiming bells. He stared at them, appreciating their splendor as she said, "That's not what I wanted though. Not just that at least."

She leaned down and kissed him, pressing her body against his, climbing over and straddling him. He reached to caress her, catching each pass of her lips into his with a soft open mouth, gently fusing into one euphoric link between their hearts and souls every time her plush soft pout landed and their tongues glanced each other sweetly. When they fucked on the boat, that's what it was. Fucking. They bit each other, clawed their backs, squeezed and grabbed their bodies.

This was different. It was gentle, teasing, loving. He worshipped each inch of her smooth frame, gliding his fingertips lightly over her skin as they kissed until they both gasped for air, not wanting to stop until their life depended on momentary separation.

He gripped her tight and rolled them both, until he was on top of her, and she was sprawled beautifully under him, like a sculpture displaying all the fantastically beautiful and horrifying realities of love itself, perfectly shaped and colored, soft and inviting, firm and playful, smiling and happy. He felt tremendous guilt beholding her, and argued with himself for a moment. _There must be another way._ He pushed the future out of his mind to appreciate the present. He shook his head to clear it, refocused on the art below him, and continued to kiss her.

Sex was great, as Lem always promised it would be, but there was a different level of satisfaction as they kissed. Her taste, which reminded him of flowers and salt, was enthralling, holding his thoughts long after they would finish. The static tingle he imagined as the spark between them ignited with each connection of their skin. Their hands intertwined finger to finger. Their bodies on top of each other. Their lips linking, connecting. His blood rushed, and his mind fluttered. His body felt lifted to a higher plane of existence as he felt himself linked to her, and allowed himself to pour out into her. And each kiss was a conduit connecting each of them together, if only for the brief moments of ecstasy their lips locked and tongues touched.

He reached to her waist, then slid down and unwrapped her lower vines to expose her opening. She simultaneously reached for the strings of his breeches, and he had to dance and hop still hovering above her to slide them down to his ankles and off. She laughed as he tried to his best to appear smooth, only to fail at every attempt. He laughed back at how ridiculous he looked at the end, his hard dick sticking out, with his breeches around his ankles as he kicked like a rearing horse to get them off, all on top and inches above her.

He looked down and thought he'd never seen her smile so big before. His face hurt from his own smile, and he thought the same of himself. He kissed her again. And again. And she reached for him and guided him inside.

They made love and were lost to the world. He pushed and rolled into her slowly and deliberately, trying to extend each moment. Every thrust meant more and more, as he felt her walls tighten and his shaft throb and thicken.

More rhythmically he pushed, matching the wave like roll of her pelvis, her sex grabbing the edges of him inside her and dragging sweet soft euphoria over the sides of his shaft and tip of his member. Each push was further into her, and they slid all over the forest floor of their tent until her head was against the curtain, and her soft low moans might as well have been out of the tent for the rest to hear.

Neither cared though, trapped in their own existence, focused solely on the pleasure of the other and the common heartbeat that raced faster and faster in each of their chests. He started to push faster, pouncing quickly into her, sounding a clap from their bodies and a sigh from her mouth each time in and out. He propped his body upright, hovering over her beauty and admiring the jolt of her breasts with each thrust, and the glistening expression of lust in her eyes. They didn't speak words to each other that night as they made love in the tent under the stars, but they said all manner of things to each other, understanding each subtle moment of their lovemaking and the magical connection between their bodies and hearts.

When they finished, her walls clamped tight and her thighs squeezed her pelvis around him as he pumped into her and released both his seed and his held breath, moaning and sighing and melting all at once. He kissed her softly, then deeply, holding her hand with one hand and caressing her cheek with the other, holding her head in place as he kissed her. He released from her lips grasp, combed through her hair with his hand, looked her in the eyes and whispered sincerely, "I love you, Nani. I always will."

"Love none other." She said, smiling. "I too like to jest in these tender moments."

Still love drunk, his mind floating, and his heart fluttering in his chest he responded, "Never have I loved and never will I love another. I give my heart to you." _For as long as it beats anyway._

"You seem so serious. Stop it. Now that I've had what I've wanted," she said, reaching for his dick and holding it in her hand like an instrument she knew to play, "I am going to sleep. Don't wait for me for the second watch. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Nani," he said, kissing her one last time, deep and sensually, before he got up, and left the tent. She mumbled a good night back. "I love you," he said as he departed.

"I love you, too," he heard her whisper into her arm, probably already half asleep, as he left the tent and walked to where Sensou was keeping watch.

He looked up at the sky briefly as he moved toward the dwindling fire their guide was perched near. Sailors knew the stars as tools, maps in the sky, a whole nautical language. To most sailors, a clear night was nothing more than an open book, and nothing less than vital. For Aegon, or more appropriately Harwin, the stars had always been something else.

His mother was always a fading distant memory he struggled to keep from evaporating to nothing in his head. Sometimes he would angrily force through the veils in his memories of her, grasping for concrete things like the way her voice sounded and the deep cooling brown that flecked the steel grey Stark eyes you could only see when she was crying. When he forced himself to remember, he never could, but at night, he could look to the stars and hear her tell her favorite story. The only one he remembered but was told to forget ever since and as soon as she passed.

"Each star, my little love, is the light of a fallen hero from the past. Heroes are those that risk everything to save us from the evils of men. Your father, though you'll never see him, is up there in the sky, one of those bright lights, looking down on all of us, the ones he saved."

Aegon remembered asking, "Why can't he just come back down. Why did he have to leave and why do we keep running away."

"Heroes, my little love, are not always treated the way they deserve. You trust your mother, yes?"

Aegon remembered nodding.

"Trust me when I say that, no matter what anyone tells you, your father was a hero. And now, that same hero lives inside of you. Your father cannot come back, and that is the will of the gods. But before he left, he gave us all you. And no matter what people tell you, you are not some common boy from nothing. You are Aegon Velaryon, and you were born into greatness."

He reached the fire and saw Sensou with a packed sack next to him and two of their water skins, which were wet and looked freshly filled. Aegon sat down, puzzled, looking at Sensou as if the man were about to embark on his own journey.

"Are all your affairs in order?" he asked mysteriously.

"What do you mean?" Aegon responded. "May I?" he asked pointing to the fruit in the packed sack.

Sensou nodded, "They're yours, sure."

"What are talking of, my good friend? What is all this?"

"You don't have to play coy with me, boy," he said with an assured calm, "I know what you're doing, or more importantly, where you're going." Sensou poked the fire with his staff, crackling the mostly burnt log into one last dying ember. "Needs another, before you go, can you fetch another log for the fire?"

"Where is it that I'm going?" Aegon asked, walking toward Sensou's wood pile and grabbing a bundle of twigs for the fire.

"I saw it in your eyes as soon as we finished with your friend. You asked, 'Time, how long?' You lead this mission, as far as I can see, and it is not one that can be delayed or rescheduled is it? Plus, the guilt you felt seeing your friend gone is something you were not prepared to swallow. Now that you've sampled what their deaths would feel like, you've reconsidered bringing the rest of them into danger to spare them." He poked the new twigs, shuffling them in the dying glowing embers until they began to catch, reviving the dying fire. "I felt the same way in my battle against him too."

"I suppose you would know better than anyone. What am I supposed to do? Even at full strength, what could the four of us do other than cause a commotion, get caught, tortured and killed? I don't want that for any of them." _I don't want that for her._

"What you haven't thought of is that no matter what, it is too late," he said, his tone and gaze remaining steady and straight.

"What do you mean?" Aegon asked.

"You have all already come too far in this. Even if you go alone, they will catch you. They will find your friends, and they will make them suffer. I can keep them here for a time, but eventually, they will search here and find them. Against the will of so many, or the will of the powerful, there is little one man can do. When one man screams, the whispers of the multitudes drown him out."

"Yes," Aegon agreed, "but he can be heard if the multitudes join his with one voice."

"I suppose so. I was that one man. I had voices that joined in my own. Little good it did anyone, they're all dead, and I rot here armless and legless wishing to join them." Sensou said, breaking his gaze and turning to look at Aegon, "As a man who tried to do good for his people, I couldn't stand idly by and allow the injustices against them. I chose that path, and now that I know what it cost, I struggle to think I'd make the same choices again. I know your intent, but are you truly prepared to pay what it will cost? Even if you some how succeed, I fear the price you pay will be far steeper than you would ever be willing to go."

Aegon considered the wisdom this man learned firsthand from the exact foe he meant to face. If Aegon was a wiser man, he might have been able to be swayed by it. He wasn't, "I was once taught a hero is someone who risks everything to stop evil from happening to others. This man, these slavers, are evil in its basest form. I don't want to be a hero, most never truly do, I feel. But if I were to let these atrocities stand without trying to stop them, I'd be just as guilty of evil as my foe. If I'm not willing to risk everything, I'm just as responsible for the death and suffering of all these people as the ones administering the torture and murder."

"That may be so, but ask yourself this since you speak about risking everything: Do you know what everything really means? Be the hero if you choose, but remember I warned you." Sensou wasn't argumentative. He wasn't angered or agitated. He just merely stated his side, from experience, and without changing the expression on his face, accepted Aegon's position and choice. He even went as far as to hand over a freshly roasted cut of the deer-like animal. "Eat it now, you'll have strength for later." Aegon obliged, beginning to doubt himself.

He chewed the meat and looked back at the camp, his eyes first drawn to where the new couple laid nestled into each other. He hated leaving them without at least explaining himself, especially to Chekka, who thought this would be the moment that would cement his legacy and glory. Aegon wished he could tell him to extend his legacy by surviving, and fathering children on his new lover. A whole pride of them, laughing a crawling over him like a pack of half size beasts. He would tell him to name one after him. Kahn sounded cool. Aegon would be nice, but knowing Chekka, he'd name his child, "Your Grace." He chuckled to himself.

Then his eyes turned to the tent and the woman he now knew he loved yet still was abandoning. Just as soon as he came to grasp his feelings and what their relationship was, how to truly appreciate the mutual devotion they now shared, that same devotion all but forced his hand.

Nahknani would blindly follow him into a battle no matter the odds or outcome. Even if they were to face certain death, and he was all but certain that was exactly what they would face, she would not save herself. She was not that kind of person. Not that kind of girl.

She had already followed him this far, just to be with him. To know him. From the moment he saved her, she had this magnetic connection to him, and he feared if he didn't leave now, she'd follow him all the way to the grave.

"If you were me, Sensou, what would you do?" Aegon asked.

"If I were you, I'd have two legs," he said and laughed. "I made my choice and felt I must inform yours. You have made your choice to. Are you the kind of man that can be dissuaded from your mission by a ghost of a man like me? I didn't think so. Are you ready?"

Aegon _had_ been ready. He didn't know exactly what Sensou meant, but he took the question as, 'Are you ready to face your death?' The answer had been yes since the moment his mission became clear. Once he could see the wider span of the conflict he was involved in, and the various evil players at the heart of the enterprise, he had been willing to sacrifice his life to the noble cause of freedom from oppression, an old hero favorite. That was before he fell in love. Which could have changed him, he thought, but then he saw the destruction of Sensou's village. His fervor hardened with every dead body he found, digging pointlessly through the rubble. Helplessly too late to defend that atrocity, he'd avenge it, and prevent any further. The answer in his mind was simple: Kill Zlatan zo Xuxus and implode the mines. He wasn't sure how yet, but he knew with all his heart that his destiny was to kill his enemy, and die most like.

 _I am ready. It just kills me to do this to my friends. My love._ "There is but two more things I need ask of you. First, would you tell my friends messages for me? I will keep them brief so you can easily remember, but I want to have my last words to them, if you please."

"Can you write?" Sensou asked.

"What?" Aegon responded befuddled.

"Can you write and read? I though all you whites knew letters."

"I can write," _somewhat,_ "what of it?"

Sensou hopped up on his staff and bounced away from the fire across the clearing. Aegon couldn't clearly make out where he was going or what he was doing, but it looked like he moved a few small stones to pull out a tube of some kind.

He hobbled back, a cylinder under his stump and the staff in his hand. He sat down, then held the cylinder with the inside of his knee, unscrewed the top, and pulled out parchment. He handed the parchment to Aegon and then grabbed the cylinder. He held the remaining parchment and shook a smooth thin black rock out. He returned the top to the cylinder, picked up the stone, handed it to Aegon and said, "If you can write, write it yourself."

Aegon knew most of how to write, but he spelled Valyrian poorly and didn't even know if any of them knew to read Valyrian. He tried, though, he owed them that. _I owe her so much more._

_My friends, Ser Checka and Trikni,_

_Tho our journey was meant for glory and triumph, I regret that I cannot wait for you to rejoin the fray. It seems to me, however, that you have won the more meaningful victory, and one that I bless to be fruitful with Trikni. May you continue to live, ser. May your life go on. I will most like die, as would you all have, and I would not be the hero you believe me to be if I were to risk your lives like this. I go alone, but no once you joined me, that you are the finest knight this King has ever known. Now grow old with your Princess and name one of your multitudinous brood after me._

_Fare the well, Ser Checka Son of Trumbo the Trunk of the Tree, Knight of the Kingdom of Sothoryos_

_Drahkness Kahn_

He folded up the first parchment and handed it to Sensou. "That is for them," he said, pointing to the cuddling couple.

_To my one and only true love,_

_My heart burns like my skin cannot as I know that by leaving you, this beautiful love I have for you is not kind. I regret, and will always regret, this only lie. I could not tell you I was leaving because you would never let me go. I can be off to my death, which I know is hard, but this has been my destiny all along, the culmination of my purpose cannot also be that you die too. For then, no matter what victory I win, I will have failed._

_I cannot fly fierce into the stronghold of the enemy knowing the person in this world I most care for is within harms way. Selfish as it may seem, our journey will be all for naught if we take the fight to our foe together. So, I must face this test alone, and I will be all the stronger for it._

_This may be the last words I can say to you, but know this: I will not go meekly to death's door. I will bite, claw, kick, and slash my way through anything I can to get back to you._

_I part you with this, my love. Your smile, your lips, your touch, your kiss, these brief fleeting moments we've shared, have been the reason for life. Meeting you, loving you, has made my existence worth it._

_My heart is forever yours_

_Aegon_

"Can you read Valyrian?" Aegon asked, in case his friends could not.

"Yes."

"If they cannot read this, please read it to them."

"You have my word," he said, grabbing both folded parchments with his hand and tucking them into a pouch in his robe. "Now, there was a second thing, yes?"

"Tell me how to best sneak into their camp."


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N I've never written something like this before. I've written short stories, even started a novel once, but I've never actually began and completed something even close to this in size, scope, or effectiveness. As we get to this point, the beginning of the end, I feel an exciting mix of emotions ranging from fear of messing it up, the triumph in nearly finishing a 150K plus work, the sadness of seeing the inevitable end so near, and the slight disappointment I don't think I'll ever reach 100 follows or stupid metrics like that. Admittedly, anyone who writes on this site wants that, but I'm humbly understanding and much more thankful to be able to tell the story that I want and have people like all of you that are just happy to be along for the ride. No matter how casually or infrequently you read this, and especially if you're like some of the people who have commented or reached out to me like Awkane pgarhwal33, Tartarus0884, Zoom99, Felon GT, Sarrae, one of my first ever follows and comments, red2016, mikkelibob, RandoFox, Tom-Bor, and GrimMaw, to everyone that has taken the time to read this, thank you so much. This is my first ever experience with fanfiction at all, and it has been such a fun and fulfilling outlet for my creativity and a way to share this with as many as I can.**

**I'm writing this to you in the midst of craziness far too few of us understand or can easily cope with. I hope this story and my efforts give even the least bit of an escape from the invisible shackles of Covid 19. But understand, truly, that all of your continued support is just as important in helping me cope with all this, and I look forward to continuing both the next step of this journey, and potentially, a few other stories I've wanted to tackle.**

**This will be my last posted chapter until the rest is completed. This is the penultimate episode, in a GOT sense, but this is not the end of the story. The saga that has begun in Sothoryos will continue. Please comment and message me with your thoughts on anything and everything Sothoryos or even A Song of Ice and Fire in general, your works, whatever. I enjoy having like minded people to open up my inbox to, and I'm always willing and eager to talk ASOIAF stuff.**

**Thanks again, and without further ado:**

44

Sensou had said the journey there was either over the hills they planned to climb with the light of day, or he could double back and take the low road in the dark and ascend the far cliffs and sneak his way down to the heart of the camp, a place where no one knew everyone, and he could even slip unnoticed through the ranks of the slaves and slave soldiers with relative ease, especially in the dead of night.

Aegon chose the longer path, though it sounded less treacherous. He needed to leave now, in the cover of darkness, and with enough time to get far enough away from his friends, his lover, to ensure their safety.

The torch in hand, he climbed down the hills, which was considerably easier than it was going up, sliding and surfing down the steep grades on rolling rubble beneath his boots, until he reached where their ascent began, and he followed the vivid directions from his guide to where he thought the trail around began. He hoped he was right. The other trail Sensou mentioned, led directly into the center of their barracks, guarded with posted guards high above the trail who could spot him a quarter mile out. _Please, gods, help me avoid the wrong path. Help me to find where I'm meant to be._

After an hour of slashing through dense brush, the leaves thick and black in the dark, even in the light of the torch, he began to understand why their guide chose to climb rather than this. Each step required three slashes from the dirk, and if this kept up, he'd be too exhausted to move by the time he reached his destination. For half a heartbeat he thought to set the whole forest ablaze. If it weren't for the thousands of possible victims from both the human realm and the animal world, he would have. He also wanted to maintain the element of surprise. An enormous brush fire would most definitely make that difficult.

With little to do but hack the vegetation and think, Aegon became stuck on the guilt he had been struggling with since before he could remember. Guilt for killing and looting his mentor and foster father, Captain Harrus. Guilt for selfishly extending their trading journey and essentially killing his only friends and the crew that trusted him. Guilt for surviving the wreck, and murdering the only survivor. Guilt for causing revolutionary changes to the Brindled communities he disturbed with his honorable mission, a mission that was now more about his selfish quest to find meaning than a worthwhile endeavor to end suffering. But now, trekking arduously through the dark dense jungle, he felt the most guilt about how he abandoned his love.

Her joyous smile flashed in his imagination and brought a smile to his face. Soon after, though, that same image began to eat away at his honor and led to philosophical questions in his already cloudy head. _Am I truly honorable in leaving her? Shouldn't I left her with her father and his clan, before falling for her, claiming her sex, promising her my heart, and then ripping it away? They say often the harder choice is the right one, but which is harder? Abandoning my love, or dragging her down to hell with me?_

Mere hours earlier, he was convinced this was the honorable, right thing to do. Courageously venture alone into the den of the beast, but with more time to think, was he courageous or craven?

So often he felt near the point of surrender. Floating on the ocean. Beaten and defeated by Ootrahk's clan. Digging through charred rubble for survivors long dead and decomposing. Witnessing his friend's death because of his decision to use a deadly plant to help. But there was always something that helped him keep moving. That voice inside _Forward. Onward._ It was urging him toward his destiny. This moment. But his decision to leave Nahknani, sneaking away from her like a lord out the back of a brothel, was that his unimpeachable honor or his own desire for self-destruction. His own desire to end the pain of the guilt and loss this "good will mission" had become for him.

It was easy to tell himself to keep moving, once he could distract his conscience from his overwhelming depression with either immediate survival or the fight to end injustice against the Brindled people. But each decision he seemed to make was suicidal. Confronting Ootrah; no sane man with concern for his well being would have ran full speed through the jungle TO an army of enormous warriors who knew nothing of him or his purpose. Aegon did. Was it to help the oppressed people, or was it to end his suffering?

He planned and executed multiple attacks against greater odds, and seemingly impossible opponents at times. He fucking flew through the air to attack an already burning ship, ALONE, against forty armed slavers! If anything sounded like a plea for death, the boat mission certainly fits, and the fact he survived doesn't preclude the understanding that he most likely wouldn't, given the odds, and only did because of the magic coursing through him.

Nahknani's smile once again flashed in his head. _I'm sorry my love._

"You've done what you've done," she began to say in his mind, "for good, as you told me. Before coming here, I do not know the man you were. I cannot say that the feeling you have from your past is wrong. You may have been an awful man before, but that is not what I know." The illusion in his head seemed far too real. _Is the dark playing tricks on me? Are there more poisonous plants in this forest?_

"You taught me that to do something that is right, is to do it because it is right. It still sounds funny, Aegon, but I understand it, now. You question whether you want to die, if your decision to fight is selfish. Since we met, you've only lived for what is right. You've followed your heart and your destiny to achieve great things and defeat great evils. My father would still be sanctioning the rape of our women if you hadn't arrived and defeated JaHahn and Niisnihk. Ootrahk's entire clan would still be slaves, probably dying in those mines if you hadn't flown onto the fire boat and killed everyone. You've achieved what no Brindled Man or Woman has since as far back as I can remember, uniting the clans against a common enemy. We've always been too concerned with ourselves that even we never thought to think about the rest of those like us. It was because of you all these good things came to be. And it is because of you, the people of our race and lands have hope. If you defeat Zlatan, they will have a future. And even if you do not defeat him, your efforts against him will lead to his destruction. You aren't our king, but you are our hero. When I wake, I will run for you. I will frantically chase you and hopefully catch you, but if I live because you left, you have also saved me. Not only from the tree in the rain, but from living the life with a husband that uses me for my body and my heritage, from living the life as a slave, a servant in my own lands, subjugating my population to that same slavery, a silent empty figurehead to allow JaHarle to rape and control our village. Without you, my heart would still be this empty cavern of half truths I used to tell myself to cope with our plight. Though it will surely break into a million pieces, my love, at least it will continue to beat, and I can live a life for myself, not the rapist I would have been forced to live for."

The Nahknani in his mind seemed kinder and gentler than the Nahknani he knew, but her words were enough to help him keep pushing through the impossibly dense brush, until the forest opened up to another rocky valley between the two hills Sensou mentioned. _Thank you_ his heart said to her, or his mind. The pain of leaving her was weighing almost too much. He needed to hear her voice, even if it was his own mind speaking. _Forgive me my love._

It was still the darkest hours of the night and he seemed to be making excellent time. All he had to do now was climb the far hill to a cliff that overlooked the mining camp and scope out their troop locations and where Zlatan would be. He imagined a mining camp minimally guarded against intruders, and more heavily guarded against slaves escaping, so if he found the right path to attack from, getting inside wouldn't be as hard as getting out.

Following his directions from Sensou, he began to climb the hill up and to the left, where north would be, and followed the path of the valley below him which was said to lead directly to the cliff he wanted. The loose silt of the hill was hard to traverse, like walking through foot deep sand, at times, his ankles more often submerged in the fine volcanic ground than they were above it, and the burning in his legs from scaling the mountain was growing worse than the burning from hacking the shrubs. _Forward. Onward._ He just kept saying it to himself, both so close to the destination, but also, so fearfully close to the end.

Each step harder than the last, he stumbled, dropping the torch to catch himself with his hands before hitting the ground out of reflex. The torch plopped deep into the sand and went out, the light around him vanishing, like everything else within his vision. The climb became pitch black, his legs buried to his shins in volcanic rubble and dust, the faint hint of sulfur and brimstone, like Dragonstone, or what he remembered from his one visit. He searched the ground, blindly, for a stone that felt large enough to strike for a flint, but he only felt tiny pebbles and dirt that crumbled in his hands as he rolled it.

Frustrated, and exhausted, he sat down, and crossed his arms over his knees. The night was fully dark, near midnight, and his eyes were still useless as they tried to adjust to the dark. He sat back and looked up. _The stars_ he thought. _Father._

Jacaerys Velaryon never knew he was to be a father. He had only ever spent two moons with Aegon's mother before returning back to the war and the Battle of the Gullet, where he breathed his last breath. Even Sarah, Aegon's mother, didn't know she was with child until her husband was already dead. Aegon looked to the stars, surrounded by the dark, and called out to his father, "I hope you know me. I hope you can hear me. I've taken on this task as a hero trying to unite a nation, like you did, and I fear I may pay the ultimate price. Like you did." He stopped, both feeling ridiculous for speaking to the sky, and saddened by the desperation he now seemed be full of.

"Tell me, father. Was it worth it? Was the right thing, the honorable thing, worth it?" Aegon struggled through the silence, waiting to hear from his long lost father. He felt like he could wait for an eternity and hear nothing. That's all he ever heard before.

He bowed his head, half in exhaustion, half in defeat, and cursed himself for feeling important enough to matter in this fight. All he had was his magic, his destiny, and the will to keep moving. Was he truly the Drahkness Kahn, or just a man who knew to sneak up on larger foes? Was he truly the blood of the dragon, or was his mother a delusional whore blessed with a common bastard like so many? Was he Aegon? Was he Harwin? Did any of it fucking matter? He was going to die soon, and did any breath he take while walking the known world mean anything to anyone in the long run? Would anyone remember his name?

He looked up, the stars seemed to brighten, the darkness around him fading enough to see. His boots were clearly visible, covered in fine silt. The remainder of the mountain emerged from the abyss, and he could see the edge of the cliff he meant to look from. He looked to the stars, one shining brighten than the rest. If he was with someone else, they'd explain his eyes adjusted to the darkness and could now see better, but Aegon gazed into the glittering sky, specifically at the brightest light, and smiled with a tear in his eye.

_Thank you._

He reached the cliff, now reinvigorated, doubt cast from his now focused mind. _I'm here, and there's work to do._

He peered over the edge to a surprising array of people all gathered between two raised wooden platforms. On one, the lower platform, a dark skinned man was bound, maybe crucified, to a tall wooden stake above a pyre, it looked like, and though he was too far away to hear, Aegon could see his body squirming. He did not mean to offer himself willingly. This was a punishment or a sacrifice.

On the other high platform was the same shadow Aegon had seen in his dreams, robed and smooth headed, standing a foot and a half taller than the shape next to him. The platform was well, lit, though the man's smooth head was still invisible, facing away from Aegon, but the frame next to him was easier to see. It was a feminine frame, glowing dark ruby red in the light of the torches around the platform. From this distance, he couldn't be sure, but she looked familiar.

Below the raised platforms, the whole host of slaves and soldiers congregated in a mob to witness the event. A piercing shout cut through the dark silence and rabble from the crowd, not loud enough to make out every word, but loud enough to quiet the crowd, then loud enough for Aegon to know someone was talking, preaching most like.

The mob below held torches of their own, waving them back and forth as the muffled voice continued to preach, droning like a chant on and on. The cadence of the voice ceased, eliciting a response from the mob. It wasn't a language he knew, but it seemed familiar at least in rhythm. A chant in unison about the night and fear, or full of fear. He wasn't sure but it could be high Valyrian.

After the chants, the smooth headed huge man stood at the edge of his platform, up to the rail, and looked down at the mob. He raised his hands out and up, as if to be receiving the loud roar he was given, and he then sounded with a booming low tone, just far enough away that Aegon could still not make out what was said. He pointed one arm down, and toward the lower platform. Some of the guards stationed around the lower platform, dots really from this distance, climbed the stairs, torches in hand, to the victim that was tied to the pyre. Four guards reached the pyre and dipped their torches down. Soon, flames sprouted from the wooden structure and began to grow and lick at the victim. The chants began again, in unison with the mob and the members stationed above them on the raised platform. The huge man boomed over their chants, saying something with malice, then the victim began to scream.

Fire engulfed his lower body as it slowly crawled up the pyre and the stake he was bound to. His left arm stretched out extended away from his body, and it looked like it was nailed to another perpendicular stake. The man was both crucified and burned. _What would I have to look forward to if I'm caught?_

As the man continued to burn and scream, Aegon felt this would be the perfect time to slip into the crowd and get lost in the shuffle. He watched the raised platform for where Zlatan would go, and even after the man was mostly burned, he seemed still intent on watching, seemingly savoring each new scream, each new crackle of the flames. Soon, the victim stopped screaming, and fire roared at full force. Zlatan had his fill, turned and entered a small hut atop the platform. _He must reside up there. Safe enough from most. Too bad for him I can climb it._

Aegon stood and looked for a path to get down. There were still a whole mob of people trying to return to their resting quarters, and the commotion would be good cover. The light from the stars illuminated the path down to the valley, which then wound around and down to the encampment. Aegon began to descend, keeping an eye on the scene for anything to be wary of. The rest of the area seemed darker than where he stepped, and hopefully, the cover of dark was still worth enough in the lights of all the torches of the ceremony.

Plodding down the steep and loose silt was easier than climbing up it, though he still had to raise his legs up and out of the ground as the soft fine ground swallowed his boots with each step. Going down, he had to raise each leg even higher, which grew extremely tiresome.

When he reached the valley. He stopped to brush out his boots. Sand and silt had gotten inside both, and he wanted to clear them out before continuing. It was also a good enough excuse to rest for a bit, and this close to his goal, he needed his strength.

As he pulled his boot up, he heard footsteps from behind him. The crowd and the camp was in front of him. _Who could be behind me?_

He hoped it wasn't Nahknani, not only would she now die, but he'd have to hear her scold him for leaving. What a waste it would have been to trek here in the dark to be caught anyway, and by the woman he tried to save. _That's what my actions end up doing anyway. I lead people to their doom and live to drown in the guilt of it. Please don't be Nani._

He stood and looked to see who followed him. It wasn't Nahknani. It was ten or twelve shadows armed with what looked like short swords, lead by an imposing and somewhat familiar frame. The collection of men walked toward him confidently, as he drew his dirk and quickly judged his surroundings. He was now only flat ground, and his pursuers also followed the flat path of the valley. He thought to climb the mountain a bit, to gain the higher ground, but the energy it would take would be take too much away from what he had left. None of his pursuers carried a torch, somehow, able to see him in the dark, and it was as if they were trying to surprise him, not the other way around.

Four of the men took the lead, forming a line of slave soldiers ahead of the remaining column. They were all almost close enough to make out their features, which meant they were mere moments from striking. The edge of the mountain, a mile-high pile of fine volcanic dust and debris, was within a few steps of Aegon. He thought of a way to even the odds.

As the four of them moved in for an attack, Aegon quickly leaped to the edge of the mountain to grab a handful of silt. As the attackers advanced, he threw the dust at the faces of two, and slashed the dirk to meet the others. He caught a strike from one sword, and avoided a stab from the other, kicked the stabber and spun and caught the second swing from the man he blocked before. The kicked man and dirt eyed foes were momentarily busy, as Aegon held the second strike from the one with the dirk in his right hand, the slaver holding his short sword with two. With Aegon's off hand, he reached to the slavers belt for his dagger, pulled it out and plunged it into his chest, in just enough time to swing to dirk around to block a wild attempt from one of the blinded slavers. After a successful parry, he twirled the dirk and his body into a back handed slash that cut the blinded slavers neck, which he continued into a forehand slash to the stem of the other blinded slavers skull, which was below him, on his knees still rubbing the silt out. The only remaining of the four, the one he'd kicked, climbed back to his feet and rushed Aegon with his arms extended, holding the short sword like a lance and charging. Aegon, side stepped the charging destrier slaver and held his foot out, tripping the man. He fell, the bottom of his arm landing first, bouncing off the ground and pointing straight up back at his falling body as he fell, impaling himself. Aegon chuckled and looked to see who remained.

"Impressive, Har," a voice called from a darkened silhouette before him. The shape had familiar broad shoulders and the voice was unmistakable. _It couldn't be._ He ignored it as four more slavers stepped forward.

Aegon sheathed the dirk and grabbed two of the short swords. They had longer reach than the dirk and were probably sharper edges at this point. Hacking through the dense shrubs and the first four left the edge blunt. The slavers swords had seen little enough use. It was time they each tasted some blood.

Harwin was well versed in all weaponry, but he took immense pride in his ability to dually wield one handed blades. He never learned to use a shield properly, and thus, having a hand free allowed him to pick up the weapons of the fallen and become that much more deadly. Plus, it was pretty bad ass to swing two swords around. Most foes thought not to even test him at all.

These men decided to, though more hesitantly than the previous four. In the dim light of the stars, he could see at least one of the men's faces wide eyed and fearful. Aegon twirled the swords in his hands. The man's face grew more fearful.

They approached him four abreast, though there was only room enough for two to strike him at a time from the front. If they were smart, they'd circle him, but they didn't seem smart. He approached the middle of the formation, leaving the men on the edges useless against him until the middle two moved or were defeated.

The middle two attacked in unison, which was the smartest tact, jabbing their swords straight at him. He was able to twirl the swords, splitting the dual advance with a circular parry glancing the their sharp edges and redirecting them past him, as he coiled them both back for two straight jabs of his own on the now vulnerable necks of each attacker. They sunk quickly in, then he pulled them out, spinning to his left. He caught the edge attacker's slash with a parry from his right sword as he was spinning, then followed with the left sword across the exposed ribs of the edge attacker. Holding the attacker's sword still with the parry, he was able to coil his left sword back for another straight stab. He snapped the blade out like a striking viper, pushing through the man's throat and recoiling back again. The dead man's limp sword hand fell, freeing both Aegon's swords for another twirl, as he turned to stare down the remaining member of the second wave. It was the man with fear on his face. Now, it was outright cowardice.

Aegon lunged at the man, and roared, screaming at the man in blood lust. He could feel the drips of the fresh red spray trickle down the side of his nose as he watched the craven before him drop his sword and run. He ran in a straight line, passed where the silhouette stood. The craven was looking back at Aegon when the silhouette drew a longsword from behind him, sidestepped to intercept the retreating guard, and swung the great big sword through him. All Aegon heard was the cool stiff song of the sword, the steel clanging through the soft body of the guard, whirring through the air and dinging. The craven took a step or two more, before the top half of his body slid off the bottom, and the legs buckled and fell. _I know that form, but how?_

There were only four shadows remaining, each of which was taking steps towards him. _Why would they not all attack at once?_ No matter, there were four left. Only four, _but that shadow. . ._

Three of the shadows charged him, holding there swords In a more tactical position, coiled to their sides, the blades out away from each other _,_ ready for strikes at any angle. _They saved the best for last._

Swords whirred toward him, and the dual swords in his hands panged each one as they came, his arms moving out of instinct, and his stance shifting with each pass from each attacker. The key to swordplay was more in the feet than the arms. Of course, strong quick arms are helpful, but without the proper balance, strength in the arms is rendered useless. Open hips and planted bases derive much more force and speed than the strongest of arms, so as the short swords clashed into his and around him, his body spinning and dodging, his arms orbiting in rotating circular parries and strikes, he kept his focus on his feet, and the feet of his attackers, waiting for his opening.

Steel sang and shrieked, only three, but the best yet, and they backed Aegon away with every pass at him. He was quick enough to catch or avoid every swipe, his dual swords much too quick for any one of them at a time. One came with a back handed slash across his body, which Aegon parried away. He noticed the man's stance in that fleeting moment. His legs were crossed. Another attacker came at him from the other side. With one arm, Aegon caught the downward stroke from the other attacker, and with the other arm, snapped a viper strike to the midsection to the man who was stumbling. His legs were crossed and Aegon merely leaned into him as he parried, just enough to cause enough of a stumble for the man's recoiling parry to miss Aegon's strike. He pulled the viper strike back out and continued to block strike after swipe after thrust after jab. _One down. Three to go._

But the familiar silhouette remained just off in the distance, standing tall, broad, and relaxed. Only two continued to with the present attack, which was more difficult to defend against than the three. With three, each would take turns, in essence, avoiding the blades of the other two. With just two, their synchronized attacks were much more difficult to predict, and within four or five exchanges back and forth, the attacker on the right nicked his left shoulder with a jab. Aegon nearly dodged it, but he was an instant too slow. He felt the drip down his arm before he felt the burn from the slice.

 _Enough!_ He thought, tired of being on the defensive. He shuffled left, toward the base of the silty hill, and blocked the last two attempts with two circular downward parries as he slid back, his back foot against where the hill began to rise. He caught two more errant whiffs at him, the attackers somewhat hesitant to Aegon, now approaching the higher ground. They shuffled to try and flank him, which gave him enough time to rake his front foot back and kick thick silt into the air.

A black cloud rose and hovered, causing his foes to cover their faces. Blinded, Aegon bounded forward and sliding to his knees, under the swords of the slavers. He thrusted each up into the guts of each opponent, left the swords inside them and rose to his feet. There was one shadow remaining. _How is it you?_

"Har, my boy! What a fucking show! You've gotten better since the last time," the man said, stepping closer. He was still shrouded in the dark, but his face grew closer and closer.

"Is it really you, Lem?"

"In the fucking flesh, though I've seen better days, sure." Lem stepped into a faint glow from the stars and it seemed surreal. _Has all this been a hallucination?_

"How? How did you survive?" Aegon asked, unarmed and stepping towards his old friend, unsure of how to proceed.

"The plan was never to wreck the boat, Har," he said. "They found me floating and picked me up. I'm one of them now, and good too. The Master trusted me to lead this attack against you."

"Little did he know you're my oldest friend." Aegon said with a smile. For a second, it hurt to see his friend again, but now, he knew he was safe.

"Actually, Aegon," Lem said as he shuffled around a sack he had strapped around his shoulder, looking

"C'mon. I know how to end this. End ALL this. If we take the path there-" Aegon started.

Lem cut him off, "Hold on, Har," he looked up from the bag and stepped toward him. "Or is it Vhaegar now?"

Aegon heard a yelp in the distance. "It's Aegon actually. How'd you know about that?"

"That's the question you ask? Not, 'How did you know I was here?' Or, 'Why are you working for slavers?' Or, 'What was the plan if not to wreck the boat?' Such an honorable man you've turned out to be Bastard."

 _Where is this coming from?_ "What's going on, Lem. C'mon. Let's be free of all this once and for all."

Lem stepped to Aegon, an arm's length away, and looked like he was coming in for an embrace. He jerked his arm quickly toward Aegon, and jabbed him with something sharp to his neck. Aegon looked at his friend, his brother in utter shock, thinking he was about to die, at the hands of the lost friend he had just found. He reached for his neck instinctively as Lem stepped back and away from him. He felt for a wound, for blood. Nothing. He couldn't clearly see in the dark, but his neck didn't feel wet, and his hand didn't look red. _What?_

Aegon heard another yelp, closer, as his head began to fuzz. _The yellow flower. Fuck._ He struggled to remain awake, though his legs began to buckle under him. "Why, Lem? What. . . why?"

"When you wake up, I'll tell you, just rest, you're journey is almost over." Lem stepped back toward him and hovered over him. His face started to gently distort, almost humming in the faint light from the stars above.

Aegon thought of the questions Lem suggested: _How did I know you were here? Why are you working for slavers? What was the plan if not to wreck the boat? How did he know?_ He tried to verbalize his thoughts, but his mouth couldn't respond. He shook his head, and tried to stand.

"Give in, Har. Give up. It's over. You had a good go of it, but we have you now, and I'll have my castle." Lem said. The world around hazed, as Aegon heard a yelp and a collision in the dark again. Aegon struggled to stay awake, stretched his eyes open to see Lem, the dog-thing, biting Lem, the man's arm.

The man reached for his back, as time began to slow down and cloud. His vision blurred, so he blinked to clear it, seeing the man's tight grasp gripped around the hilt of his longsword pulling it up. It slowly climbed through the air, and released from its scabbard, as the dog, shook the arm back and forth suspended in motion. The man's knuckles tightened white, and the arm started to jolt downward. The great steel edge sliced slowly, inch by inch descending on the jerking hahkyeen, until it found him, sank deep into the meat of his neck, and opened up a splash of blood, dropping the pup immediately.

"Lem!" Aegon screamed, reaching for his fallen friend. "No!"

"Aegon!" he heard in the distance, his mind definitely delirious as he heard something he couldn't have.

"Look at this," Lem, the man said, turning to the voice Aegon knew but didn't believe. "Look at the tits on this one."

Nahknani was sprinting, a sword in her hand, toward Aegon in the last moments his vision could see before they became nothing more than blurs and swirls in the dark.

"I'm fucking her tonight," Lem said, in a very Lem way, as he reached again for in his bag, the shapes of every motion clouded, and looked to be loading a blow dart tube. Nahknani ran closer, or close enough for Lem to fire and drop herself.

The blood of the dragon erupted the volcano that was Aegon's mind and heart. _I left you to keep this from happening. I left you to keep you safe. No, Nahknani! Why did you do this?!_

_No, Lem, why did you do this?_

He fell. Everything became dark. He could see his dream forming, inside his mind, sitting in a completely dark room on a stool to tall to touch his feet to the floor. He heard a voice from behind or around him, though he couldn't see anything.

"It was I, Aegon. I did this, as I warned you. I am so sorry." She appeared in the air above him, nothing more than the apparition of her beautifully framed red silhouette and the shape of her enticing curvature through smoke like silk. He knew the voice from Qarth and his dreams and didn't understand a thing. He sank into a blackness, drowning in his own confusion, self doubt, grief, and the realization, that after all this, after every step towards destiny, it had all been a lie. _I am and will always be nothing more than a bastard's bastard._


	45. Chapter 45

45

His mind sank into the abyss of both the fever dream induced by the plant toxin, and the tragic rage building up within his mind and heart. In the fleeting moments of his remaining consciousness, he couldn't coherently grasp the full gravity of his situation and the consequences of his decisions, but as his mind slipped slowly down, further into the dark brimming emptiness of his hallucination, the shock abruptly hit him.

Lem. Nahknani. Gone. Taken. And all because his life-long friend, his adoptive brother, betrayed him, maybe multiple times, culminating in his capture.

In the panicked moments that stretched into hours in his unconscious state, his heart and mind were racked with the guilt and grief of those moments. The weight of his decision to leave Nahknani earlier in the night, came back to roost on each of his shoulders, pulling him down further and deeper into the dark. He mourned Lem, whose life was too short to have ended, and for a purpose so far from his own, but it was his love's fate that most tested him.

He could still hear the echoes of Lem's declaration upon seeing the Brindled Woman for the first time. Much like Aegon mused, Lem would most certainly want to try out a strange woman, if not for desire, for the ability to say he had, but would the friend he knew take her against her will? He had thought not, but then again, he thought he knew his friend. He didn't, apparently. He didn't at all.

The toxins of the yellow flower continued to intensify, as the darkness around him swirled and swelled. It was becoming thicker, the dark, circling around him in gusts, twirling him or making him feel as if he were. The dense black fog then started to flicker with orange and red light, somewhat in the distance past the charcoal grey smog now more visible, rolling like the clouds of a violent storm.

A searing light flashed through, more red than white, appearing less like lightning and more like a flare from the sun. His mind was still incoherent, but the images in it started to take more shape. The light was the flash of an eruption. The black cloud, ashes and smoke from the mouth of the mountain. He descended into the heat, falling through the swirling grey and black clouds and dropping into the molten heart of the spouting rock.

The heat seemed oppressive, as if he weren't immune, and the intense pressure continued to build around him, smothering his breath, as he descended closer and closer to the crawling magma. For a dream, he was less concerned with falling and more concerned with the lasting trauma still somewhat faded in his memory from reality. A reality, in which, his dream of destiny had become a nightmare, and the only respite from the thoughts of Lem, Nahknani, and Lem was the inherent fear of falling from such a height in the nightmare which in context seemed more like a fantasy.

Aegon wished he could fall headlong into the volcano, now that his world was ruins, now that his heart was shattered, and his back stabbed through and through. If there was ever a moment on this mysterious land he ever wanted to give in, give up, this was it. But he wished more than for the events in motion to cease, he wished he had never landed, never found Nahknani, never survived the wreck. Everyone's life would be better that way. He helped no one, did nothing, and for all the talk of destiny, he was now and would forever be a bastard. A worthless up jumped bastard who thought he could be more in this world. He couldn't and would never be.

He splashed into the thick grey liquid, marbled with glowing orange streaks. His body splashed through the upper crust, singeing his skin in the dream, and plunged back into the familiar cold dark abyss from his first time with the Irahk.

He hit the floor with a crash, and the walls sunk into the floor as he depressed it, stretching around him instead of catching his fall with an impact, the fabric of the world around him fragile. It retracted back, the ground once again hard sharp jagged rock, and the air grew cold and damp.

From just beyond his vision, he sensed the aura or glow of something. Someone. The red shape appeared and Aegon could only seethe in hatred, not fully understanding what had happened or why. Her face formed out of the thin air, smoke from the crust above swirling into the round and curved features of her face. Her blazing irises peered from under her opening lids, framed with long lashes and dark black lining. Her nose formed, then her lips, the smoke swirling around and into them as if she were breathing it in. Then they began to stretch up and down. She spoke, "Aegon." Her voice came from every direction of the room, echoing in the damp chamber, but her lips just moved, the mist before him was no more than a representation of her. Maybe she feared to appear before him. Even in his dreams.

"Aegon," she said again. "As I said both in warning, and after it had been done; I am sorry for the pain you have and soon will endure." Her floating face looked directly at him, though her eyes seemed to see more through him.

"Why continue to torture me, witch? What more pleasure could you derive from my demise in the prison of my own fever?"

"I contact you not to cause you pain, Aegon. Not all of what was said was deceit." Her voice quivered with a palpable despair between each word. He knew that quiver from his own voice, his own similar despair. It sounded like guilt.

"Does it matter now? Does it matter that some of what you said was true if, in the end you're the one who had me captured? You sent Lem and those men, didn't you? You're the only person who could have known where I was going to be." Aegon was now floating, his rage taking control of his dream state. His blood was pulsing quickly through his imagined veins, and he could feel his Targaryen heart pumping heat into them. "You sent them, in the black of night, to what, assist me? You even knew about Lem and only hinted at it, then, you sent him to be my betrayer. Again, woman, I ask, what more pain do you seek to cause here?"

"Aegon," she said, her body now forming from more swirls. Her arm reached out to console him, seeing his anger building and rising to his surface, bubbling and ready to erupt.

"Don't FUCKING touch me, witch!" he snarled. He could smell the brimstone from his breath as the words flew as smoke through his nostrils and the false reality around began to crumble. The intense pain inside him now formed into a driving malicious force, starting to take control of his mind, and the dream. His body began to swell, growing to a gargantuan size, and the smoke before him dispersed with a swipe of his now scaled and clawed hand, only to reappear.

His blood was hot, as was his enormous body. He radiated heat, as a flame grew inside him. He roared, screaming fire from his heart and the bottom of his gut. He torched the room around him, blasting through the walls until he cleared the black fragments from his mind cave, creating a new all white, plain surrounding. His body shrunk to his normal human form, and he turned to see the Red Woman. She was projecting from behind him. She was there, just too fearful to face him.

He had full control now. He broke through the veil of the toxin, and could manipulate everything about the dream. He picked her up, with his mind, and pulled her toward him, her feet above the ground, as her form flashed, disappearing and reappearing seemingly ten times in the course of a heartbeat, as if she was trying to escape this space, but failed, pulled back in by something she had no power over. Someone.

He held her, with his mind, just above him, so close he could see the imagined sweat beading on her forehead. She didn't glow, like she had in all his other dreams, and he could see the crow's feet on the sides of her eyes and the laugh lines framing her once full lips. Her ruby necklace was mute; a flat color one could barely call red. It looked more like the molten rock, with only marbles of red, except the glow had diminished, and the rock looked as magical as a common stone. "You have no more power here." Aegon said gruffly, his blood still boiling, even now in the white space.

"No, it seems I do not," she said, as her features faded elder and elder, as if she aged a year each time his eyes blinked. "Yet you do, Aegon. Not just in here, but out there as well."

"Sure, if I'm on fucking fire," he said looking up to her, her body still floating above him, the red silk robes she seemed to always wear swaying in a gentle breeze above him. Soon her red hair began to turn white, and the lines on her face sank to creases. "What can I do now, against the slavers? I am but one man against an army of hundreds, and I'm imprisoned or bound, most like, without my weapon, and without any allies."

"But me."

"Curse you, witch." He spat away at her feet. He meant to disrespect her, but still felt it would be dishonorable to spit directly at her. "Even if you were to offer me help, how could I ever trust you?"

"Because you are exactly where you need to be now. You have done everything exactly the way you were supposed to. My purpose has not been fully made clear, and all things I do and see are faded after my interpretation of the Lord's will in the flames."

"The Lord's will? You set me up with talk of destiny. According to Lem, it was you. According to you, it was you. You sent me to Asshai. You kept me from returning."

"If you returned to Westeros, you would have been dead once you found the first port. Your tall friend sold you out when he found out how you came into money. Going to Asshai saved your life. You only live because the Lord of Light wills it."

"Going to Asshai killed more than just me. It caused more damage than good, and for what? For me to die here, having done nothing but lead the woman I love to her death? I tamed that hahkyeen. He followed me around the jungle to his death. I killed his kin, most like. He ate them. And for what? To die when he was free of me. I should have returned to Westeros to face my inevitable fate. I murdered the man who raised me. I deserved as much. You sent me on a chase for meaning, and all I've found was death and despair. I tried to be a hero to a foreign people who enslave and rape and torture each other, for what? To fail in the end. You've brought me to my doom, yes, but you dragged scores more through this pointless hell."

"Zlatan means to torture you, brutally, both your mind and your body. Then, you are be sentenced to death, sacrificed to the one true Lord. The Lord of Light made man, his glory and honor Zlatan zo Xuxus, the Lord of the Flames and the Land enjoys his sacrifices." She smirked. "You know what that means, and then know that it is my wish you die in the traditional way. The torture, unfortunately that will be up to him, but as a devout believer in himself, a god, he will want your powerful soul sacrificed. And there is but one way to send a soul to the Lord of Light."

He lowered her, realizing what she was saying, and released the grip his mind had on her body, now white haired and hunching over, her back bent and her legs weak. "What more do you know, witch? What more can I do?" He understood now, at least somewhat more.

"I know nothing, Lord Snow, but what I've seen in the flames shows me much. What it is exactly, I cannot say, but I try to find meaning the best I can in my mortal flesh. I saw fire and flames. I saw steel and blood. There will be a great battle here, and you at its center. What and who and how, I cannot say, but I can influence him to use the sacrifice, and that is the most I can do."

"So you work for him? How have you come to be with him?" He asked, his blood cooler. His head calmer.

"How does anyone come to be under the rule of a man such as the one we speak?"

"Understood." His vision became more focused, though something still ate away at his insides. Some stabbing feeling deep within him felt it needed to be attended to. "What of my love?" His tone was stone cold.

"I did not see her in the flames."

"What of her now, as we speak? Surely you know."

"She is captive, but safe. For now. The Brindled Man with us said she is to be saved for his son to take to wife. A second wife, but she is needed to control her people. She still sleeps, in a makeshift cell in their quarters."

"Was she. . ."

"No. She wasn't touched. It was forbidden. Though, I will tell you. Her fate is tied to your punishment."

"Should I know?"

"No."

"Then why was she there? Why does she have to be a part in this?" He felt the white world slipping away, fading, the sand in the hourglass about to be empty.

"Without love, Aegon, why do anything? You would never have been part of this if you didn't save her. She was as much your destiny as the fate you may both share."

"If you truly are my ally," he said, "find it in your magic and influence to spare her life."

"I will do what I can."

"No. Say it. Say that she will live, promise me."

She faded away before saying another word. The white world around him dissipated into nothing more than billions of pieces of sand.

His eyes struggled open. His head pounded with the after effects of the plant as he felt the frigid metal of the shackles around his ankles and wrists, fettered together and unable to move comfortably. He was chained to a brick wall, though it could have been stone as dark as it was. He couldn't have been out for long, for through a tiny window opening, he could see the stars still the only lights in the sky.

Down a hall, there was a lit torch on the wall, that bled light slowly to him, but it wasn't enough to see much more than the shapes of his surroundings. There was no door, but the walls surrounded him and then thinned into the hall or alley, which was no wider than one man across. For a cell, it was better than some and worse than other's he'd seen, but it had no bucket, and no goaler, which meant his stay would be short lived, as the remainder of his life were almost assuredly be.

He was stripped again, left in nothing but his breeches and boots, sitting awkwardly on the cold floor alone in the dark. He had his thoughts. He had his fears. And they began to eat at him as if they were a loose rat in the cell, gnawing at him from the inside.

He thought of Nahknani. _How did she find me? How could I have been so stupid to think she wouldn't follow? What will become of her now?_

He thought of Lem, the pup. He mourned him as much as he had mourned any person. Even as much as any he'd killed, or been responsible for. That number was growing far too high.

The guilt ate most of all, though. All the death and destruction he caused. The future pain and suffering of Nahknani's tribe after a quashed rebellion. His failure to protect her. He even now felt guilty he had fallen for her, and she him. Look at all the good it brought them. Four days and a death sentence. Charming.

He sat for what seemed like hours, though he knew it was far less. With the weight crushing his soul, and the fear for Nahknani, his love, every second was torturously long. He craved some sort of relief, though no potion or tonic in the known world could ease his pain, only Nahknani's freedom, which was a near impossibility.

He checked his wrists and ankles, the shackles, chains, and fetters. Each was steel and properly fastened. He scratched and scrambled on the ground around him for something he could use. Prying the shackles off or breaking them would prove an unattainable goal, but doing nothing was worse than trying something and failing. Plus, he could keep his mind off of the sunken void that burned in his chest hotter and harder than fire ever had.

Cold rough ground pricked and his fingertips as they scraped at the floor, but nothing was loose enough or big enough to even attempt. Another disappointment only exacerbated that feeling inside, and he dropped limp to the floor, curled in as far as his restraints let him, defeated again.

He began to whisper to himself, logically catching himself and refraining. Talking distracted him, though, and he continued, as if to someone else. "What is to be done with me?" he said in the common tongue. "Where is the woman? Is anyone there?" He didn't expect an answer, but it was all his mind could think to say. Even if they used the information to torment him, knowing where she was, what condition she was in, and what their plans for her were, would at least answer the questions in his mind keeping him from concentrating on his latest and probably last visit with the red woman.

For a time, he heard only silence and tried again. He rotated the questions, to keep his mind thinking. He added new ones like, "What if I need to shit? I'm sure someone's job is to clean this place. And by the looks of it, I've gotta say, not bad for a cell. But if I shit, just, anywhere, won't that be harder to clean up?" and, "You better get down here because I'm almost free of my shackles and will soon be gone. These ones are broken and I'm flexible."

Nothing reciprocated as much as the chirp of a cricket, and the already horrible helplessness of his situation, intensified. His heart was now stinging like it was covered in volcanic acid, his blood flushed his cheeks and ears so that they felt hot on his head. He was angry. He was frightened. He was sullen. He was ashamed. And even his enemy had left him alone.

Only nights before, he had captured his own key figure in the conflict, and said aloud that to make a man wait is to torture him. And wait, he would, for what seemed like even more hours that were also probably only minutes.

He cried out again, hoping for something, anything to think of other than her. Was she angry? Was she scared? Did she plan to try something stupid and suicidal to save him and sacrifice herself? He thought of her face and her features. He thought of the bond they had built and the connection they linked. Then he thought of Lem, taking her, as he had taken so many others like another serving of meat to appease his large appetite. Nahknani was no man's meal. She was his. And he was hers. And bound in the cold stiff restraints, he thought to break his left wrist and pry them off. They were too tight, but his bone crunched all the same, and the edge of the shackle opened a long gash across the top of his left hand, which itched minutes after he'd tried, caked with dirt and blood, constantly grazing the shackle, each graze causing a jolting wince of pain.

"Is there anyone here to guard me?" he said again, the last time he vowed.

Steps echoed down the hall. _Someone is coming, finally_. Now getting a response, he worried who it would be and what they intended to do. He didn't fear physical torture, though he expected it soon. He did fear what mental anguish his enemies had in store for him. He feared what that would mean for his love.

The tall figure turned from the corridor and faced him. It was dark, but he could recognize that familiar frame almost anywhere. Lem stood before him, motionless, expressionless, waiting for Aegon to speak first, it seemed.

"Why, Lem?" It was all Aegon had to say to his former friend.

Lem chuckled, "You ask why, you know damn well why. I really would've just let it go, Har. I loved him, sure, but I would have let it go."

"You knew, then," Aegon concluded aloud. "We're you a part of it?"

"He told me who you were and what he was planning. He asked me to help him. I wanted no part, but I still didn't tell you," Lem looked away, stepped past Aegon and continued, "so for that, I'm sorry. You were supposed to die, I was supposed to benefit, but I didn't want to look you in the eyes and betray you. You killed the man who was my father. Your father. Our father. You killed him, stole his gold, and bought yourself a boat and asked me to serve you." Lem turned back to look at him, "Huh, I was halfway to splitting a fucking castle and lands with the old man and your bastard ass took that away from me, and lied straight to my face when I asked you. You remember me asking you? You knew."

"I didn't know you knew. If I had known you turned the old man down, I would have split it with you."

"Bullshit. You knew. I knew, and we both knew the reason you needed to go as far as Qarth. To make it look like you made all the captain's money on your initial voyage. Everyone hip hip for Har of the Harbor! They'd say, right? No, you'll always be the Bastards Bastard and I would always be your side kick. Well, I said, fuck that and I made myself a deal. Was I supposed to nearly drown? No. That was a small hiccup. These idiots were supposed to just board the ship, but the storm and darkness set them off course, and bam."

"You had us attacked?" Aegon said, incredulously. "All of our crew? Your friends?"

"My friends? Who the fuck aboard that ship would you trust with anything more than they could fit in their pockets? Which one of those low-lifes did you trust with your precious secret? None of them. Not even me."

"It appears my hesitation in trusting you with my heritage was justified. You turned as soon as you got the chance."

"No. I turned when you murdered our captain and pretended like you were all of a sudden my superior officer. You always acted better than me, Har, I get that. You're too honorable to "dishonor a maiden." The bitches you were talking about had been around more times than the whiskey bottles at the Eel. If we were equals, why not share the gold? Share the ships? We could have each been the captain of our own galleys. But no. You killed him, stole his gold for yourself, and wanted to hire me as your glorified rower. That's when I turned."

"I was going to share the profit with you," Aegon said, hurt that his friend thought he killed their mentor out of greed. "None of this was ever about the money."

"No? You weren't sailing to every port from White Harbor to Qarth to make it seem like you earned that gold from trade? This was _always_ about the money, Har. So, I took mine where I could get it. Or tried to anyway." Lem's tone was full of hate. Malice dripped from every word and expression.

"What of you deal now?"

"What of it? Well, since I'm now either a soldier or a slave, I have little say in the matter. From what I hear, they're going to kill you tonight after the ceremony."

"What ceremony?" Aegon asked.

"I said you're going to die, and you wanna know about the fucking bullshit beast thing they're planning? Gods, you're still fucked up on that flower shit, or what?"

"Just tell me about the fucking ceremony. What ceremony?"

"That beast bitch that I downed is something to the monkey that sits in the council with the big guy. He's givin' her to his son, or something, and they do this thing where they fuck in front of the whole village or something to consummate their union. I don't get it, but she looks foxy for a fuckin' animal, doesn't she."

Aegon was fuming. He didn't know what enraged him more, the callous way Lem spoke of her, or their plans to marry and rape her in front of him, as both a way to control her people and torture him all the same. He struggled to break free from his chains with all his might, hoping the anger would help fuel him through the steel. But he only managed to rip open new wounds, and tire himself out from the exertion. Lem laughed, studying Aegon's outward display of intense emotion.

"No. Don't tell me she wasn't running fucking all out to get to you because you guys. . . Oh, shit. You fucked her, didn't you? You dirty fucking virgin. You fucked an animal."

Aegon struggled again, still unable to do anything more than flop. He grunted and growled, seething, his mouth almost foaming, hating every inch and everything about this new Lem.

"You did, didn't you. Good thing I didn't fuck her then. I'd feel bad about fucking the girl who deflowered you. What an honor it must've been to slide into that hairy fucking bush of a pussy. I didn't know you had it in you, Har. I guess this new Aegon thing's got you savage."

"Shut you're fucking mouth. Don't you talk about her for another second. She's more a person than a rat fuck like you has or ever will be."

"Don't get me wrong, the tits look human enough. But their like half ape, half tiger, or some shit. How could you ever trust that mouth of fangs to blow you? Fuck that, I'd rather just fuck one of these slave whores. They're not bad once you break 'em in right."

More footsteps echoed from the hall. "Who else is joining us?" Aegon asked.

"No one you'll enjoy," he said, stepping back as if to give way to someone who outranked him.

Three men whipped around the corner. Two Brindled Men flanked the shadow from his visions. His face was still somewhat darkened, though clearer than the dream. His head was bald, his chin long, and his ears and nose adorned with gold. He wore lining around his eyes, and donned a blood red tohkar that swooped around his body with tightly wrapped but flowing silk, sewed with the outlines of orange flames. He stood only inches shorter than the two hulking beasts to his left and right, similarly filled out with cut bulky muscle, and he wore an arahk behind his back and a whip on his hip. Zlatan.

The two other men were likely JaHarle and his other son, and they both resembled the man Nahknani killed days before in the forest, one younger, one elder, though both were still physically imposing.

The elder Brindled Man, JaHarle, stepped to Lem and said in Valyrian, "What brings you to our prisoner, boy? You come to free him?"

"No, I've come to gloat. I brought him to you mere hours ago. Why set him free now?"

"Leave him, JaHarle. He is one of my good men. Go, servant of the Lord of Light. Leave us," Zlatan ordered. His voice was deep, but airy, almost quiet. It left his lips with authority, though, and the cool steely softness was all the more intense as if he were to scream it out of hysterical anger.

"Yes, Master," Lem said, bowed, and left. He shot Aegon a parting glance and a nod, as if to say good luck or good riddance.

The three giant men allowed their subordinate to leave, then turned to address their prisoner.

"You've been a tough opponent, Valyrian, I commend you for your previous successes," Zlatan said in the same softer deep rumble of a voice. "However, you must be made an example of. These people and monsters I have here to work, are negatively inspired by an uprising like this. It is counterproductive in our efforts to mine these lands. My sorceress tells me you've met the last man to cause such a fuss, no? You met him in the jungle, she says. What were his words on facing me?"

Aegon knew he meant Sensou, but could not give the villain the satisfaction of hearing his cruelty worked. "I'm not sure of whom you speak, but any that have dealt with you, in my past, warned you were too ambitious for your own good."

A bulky hand cracked into his exposed face with a bone crunching ring that flashed his vision white. "Silence, you insect. Do you not know that you are defeated? What more can you do, Valyrian? Your life will be as long and unpleasant as I decree, and if pain is something you've grown used to, there are other ways in causing you discomfort." He turned to the younger Brindled Man and nodded as if to execute an already determined command. "You will find that your insolence will serve you poorly, now, and for the remaining moments of your meaningless life."

Aegon listened as the huge feet left into the corridor. JaHarle and Zlatan remained silent and mostly still, staring down their captive, studying him. After a few silent moments, JaHarle cleared his throat and asked in Valyrian, "How is it that a man as puny and weak as you defeated so many of my warriors?"

Aegon felt enough gall inside him to respond with a digging quip, but he feared what other torture they were inferring. He wouldn't mind a few good thwaps from the heavy hands of either of the two before him, but his concern was of some other pain. Or more accurately, someone else's.

He remained silent, "Oh, what? You have no more to say?" JaHarle goaded, hoping for a reason to strike.

"Not at the moment, no," Aegon replied, unable to help himself.

Zlatan broke in, "I feel your opinion may change," he turned his head to look down the dark hall. Aegon could once again here footsteps, but also the clanging of metal on metal, jingling toward him.

JaHarle's son turned the corner, pulling chains, and then his love stepped into view and saw him. Out of reflex, she lunged to him, moaning, "Aegon," in a soft sweet desperation that helped restore the cracks in his heart for a brief moment, until the younger Brindled Man yanked at her chain hard, whipping her back, her auburn hair and beautiful face jolted away violently. He pulled her close and barked, "No!" like she was a dog to be trained.

His heart once again shattered and sank, seeing his love in the hairy muscled clutches of the younger Brindled Man. "Yuk ahk ku naan ahk nu, ishkahn," he said to her in their tongue.

"Ahk un naan ahk viss kahk!" she yelled back and spit. He struck her. Aegon jolted up, trying to break free again. His chains and fetters clinked to the amusement of his captors, and the terror in Nahknani's normally confident expression was just as heart wrenching.

"This bitch tell us she killed my brother? Is this true?" The younger asked, holding her head in his enormous hands.

"No, I killed him. She was merely just present." Aegon said, hoping to save his love from further pain.

Nahknani growled in response, "Yes, yes I did kill him. I stabbed and cut his manhood, twisting until he fell lifeless to the forest floor. Fuck your son, your family, and fuck you," she spit at JaHarle prompting another hard crack to her face. Her lips split and blood welled in the corner of her mouth. She spit the blood out again at JaHarle, reminding Aegon of himself when he was captured by Ootrahk's clan. JaHarle raised his hand again to reward her disrespect with another crack, but his son stopped him.

"Father, no. This will be my bitch, she is mine to reprimand," the younger said, in Valyrian, so Aegon had the benefit of understanding.

"I will never be yours, fool." He grabbed her neck with his hulking clawed hand and raised her up above his head, choking her.

"I don't care what condition you're in, but you _will_ be my bitch, and I will fuck you and beat you as I please. If you were to die, that would be a shame, but it would make no difference. Your people are mine. Your village is mine. You and all of your body is mine. And you will not disrespect my father again or face punishment." He held her up, squeezing her neck tightly, as she kicked and struggled for air. Aegon struggled again at his chains, trying with every ounce of strength to break free. He screamed to exert extra effort, only to fail and fall back down to the floor to the laughter of his captors.

"Enough," Zlatan decreed. "Bring the prisoner and prepare him for the ceremony. I planned to punish you more, Valyrian, but after the revelations of the evening, maiming you seems empty in comparison to what my furred friends have suggested. You will die, yes, but not until after this wretched creature you seem to have a strong affinity for is given to another man and defiled before you and all to see." JaHarle's son dragged Nahknani away, as JaHarle himself stepped to the shackled man.

He was not the tallest of his kind Aegon had met, but he was built as thick and sturdy as any but Niisnihk. His broad bound shoulders were every bit as wide as Ootrahk's, and it was easy to see how both of his sons grew to be as big as they were. His face was aged, but still fierce, a kindled flame behind his hazel irises seared into you as he looked. His pelt was salted with white and grey, but his strength was still evident and plentiful, as he grabbed Aegon by the chain that connected his wrists, and picked him up off the floor. Aegon struggled, twisting his body and attempted an awkward punch with his bound hands, only for JaHarle to avoid it and throttle his neck in a viscous choke hold.

"It takes every part of me," he whispered in a sinister growl, "not to rip you limb from pitiful limb, slash you open, and pull your innards out foot by foot. My son was a fool, an unexceptional loser, but he was my son, and he is dead because of you." He tightened his grip even tighter, squeezing Aegon's neck so hard he felt his head would break off. "I've been told you'll suffer. I've been told you'd die, but I want you to hear this, Valyrian maid: JaHahn was my kind son. He would have treated your whore gently. He already had, saying he cared for the treacherous bitch. JaHeen is my strong son. He has fathered pups already to many women, seven, I think, four on his first wife." JaHarle released Aegon's neck just before he was about to pass out. JaHarle turned his captive to look into his eyes. Aegon's eyes were all but faded, hearing and visualizing every word and every degradation of his love. _If she had never met me, she would have been safe from this fate. Every time he touches her, it will be because of me._

JaHarle snarled and said, "My son is going to fuck and beat that pathetic bitch until she acts like she likes it. She's going to break, I promise you, and no matter how much you think you know or care for her, every moment for the rest of her life, that lowly slut will live only to please my son and his member. You will die soon, which is a shame. I would rather you be nailed to my son's bedchamber ceiling to witness each time. But you'll see the first, and until your death, you can imagine the rest. That should be enough."

His words sunk deep into Aegon's mostly defeated psyche, crushing him, paralyzing his mouth and body. What could he say? In his heart, after his fever dream with the red woman, and it all but confirmed by Zlatan himself, Aegon was confident he could eventually get free. But he feared how late that would be, and the damage to her body and heart as he watched helplessly in the meantime. That sunken despair burned a hole through his soul until he could feel it turning into anger, a fiery anger that built from hate and rage. From the deepest darkest bloodiest parts of his past, and the most sinister part of his soul, he lifted his head up to the Brindled Man, and stared back with his own blistering stare.

"Know this. The taste of victory you have in your pallet will sour soon, and I vow that you will watch your son die and soon after die yourself. I cannot promise your death will meet my satisfaction, but by the end of all this, your son's life will end at my hands, and you will rue the day you crossed me." Aegon said, in a calm, unassuming tone. He stared directly at his foe, who was unmoved, but still somewhat startled at his steely resolve.

JaHarle responded with an open paw, crushing into Aegon's face. "You speak so strongly from a position of such weakness, Valyrian. If it wasn't decreed to keep you alive, I would have already twisted your pink little head off your shoulders. I want to crush you, but I've sworn to keep you awake so you can witness the ceremony. I hope you like it, for my son raping your whore will be the last thing you ever see, and you can spend the eternity of your beyond focused on nothing more than my son inside your woman."

JaHarle unclasped the fetters and shackles from the wall and dragged Aegon through the hall and up stairs to where he'd witness the ceremony they all mentioned as his worst and final torture.

The same two platforms were set up, the lower still somewhat smoldering from the sacrifice made earlier in the evening. It was turning slowly into dawn, as the darkness of the night began to mix with the faint light of the morning. They dragged him to the lower platform, still bound, but not blinded, and he gazed across the scene looking for a way out or an alternate plan. He still hadn't given up escaping and saving Nahknani from the ceremony, and thinking of a plan was the only thing his mind could focus on to keep the thoughts of her rape and torture out.

There were hundreds of slaves, all bound in rows, chained to wooden rails to keep them in line and from wandering the camp. There were all kinds and colors of people, bronze and black skinned, old and young, men and women, he even saw some children, all bound, all chained, all slaves. He could see some of the Brindled Men and Women, similarly bound, though none were standing. He imagined some were from the other tribes he had never met, almost two hundred or so Brindled People, from his guess, and they were all beaten and broken, barely able to stand. He passed a column of them on his way to the platform, and saw puzzled faces studying him as if they were thinking _This is the threat they've been worried about? Such a small useless pink man?_ He hoped it brought them confidence, though Zlatan meant to burn it from their minds before they started anything of their own.

JaHarle dragged him up the steps to the platform, each pointed step scraping into his skin, leaving blood trickling down his ribs, and shins, and once up the stairs, the Brindled Man threw him to some subordinate slave soldiers to prepare him properly for the ceremony.

They took him by the arms and legs, four Ghiscari, they looked, dressed in the same leather garb Aegon wore on the boat battle, holding him down on two large beams of lumber with all their weight as another undid his shackles. He struggled free for a moment, only for another Ghiscari to snap a whip at all of them, hitting two of his compatriots with a passing glance as the full force of the whip twapped and wrapped into Aegon's skin, then around his collarbone and shoulder. Fighting the pain of the whip, he grabbed it, and started to coil himself toward his attacker. One of the men tried to grab him as he elbowed him in the mouth and drew closer to the man with the whip. The other Ghiscari that hadn't been whipped, stood to face him, which Aegon responded with a punch to his throat and a spinning kick to his lowered head, still wrapping himself closer in the whip. He looked to the man's face, fear started to flash, and he burned with lust to kill anyone, anything, trying desperately to get to his love.

As he reached the man with the whip, who was struggling to wriggle it free for another crack, he reached out for his neck with his hands and savagely crushed it, squeezing the air out of him until blood drip out of his eyes like tears. He coughed and suffocated, his face purple and swollen, and Aegon stood to continue his escape.

Next to him, he heard a bounding landing from something and felt the hard strike from what he assumed was a club. Soaring, he crashed into the pile of lumber he was supposed to be fastened to, as he tried to roll away. He eyed his attacker, it was JaHarle, and he bounded up and next to him with another inhuman leap, grabbed Aegon by the neck and called for his Brindled Warriors to help hold him down. They obliged, and grabbed him, tall enough and strong enough to avoid further escapes, and brutal enough to hold him down with their claws piercing through his skin to keep him from slipping away.

Four Brindled Men held down each of his limbs, his shoulder and ankles slashed with their sharp claws digging deep and pulling him seemingly apart, and down against the lumber. JaHarle himself picked up three stakes and a mallet and began nailing Aegon down to the boards. He started with his wrist, extending his one arm out, in the Mereneese way of crucifixion, and driving the stake, blow by blow through his arm and into board. Aegon held his scream in, fighting not to give any satisfaction to his enemies, as his skin shredded and his bones crunched, his blood spilling everywhere. JaHarle continued, nailing his other hand to his side, then through both feet with one final stake. Aegon screamed unwillingly as the last stake drove through his second foot, as the pain and the anguish of another failed escape could no longer be held in. He wiggled his body, trying to undo the stakes deep and through his body. He only managed to open the wounds wider and cause more extreme and intense pain. He screamed as he writhed, but he was fastened to the lumber. The Brindled Men that held him down backed away as the original Ghiscari guards hoisted the lumber up, presenting him to the crowd raised in the center of the platform.

He felt his lungs and body stretch as his weight pulled down on the stakes fastening his wrists and feet. He pushed himself up with what strength he had left in his legs, only to feel the intense pain burning through the soles of his feet and ankles as the sharp pain of the steel spike through him made it almost impossible to resist the downward force of his weight. He vacillated from hanging, to pushing, standing up as much as he could for as long as he could until the intense pain forced him to release, which caused even more pain in the holes, as he could feel his body slowing pulling apart.

He looked to see Zlatan and the Red Woman, perched atop their high platform, and below he saw a clearing open up amongst the slaves, as Ghiscari guards were herding them away from a center pavilion, below Aegon, but propped up for all the camp to see. The far edge of the pavilion was lined with ten-foot-tall bamboo poles, lit like torches at their peak, as a red robed acolyte of the red god R'hllor stood solemnly waiting. Intense searing pain in his feet and wrist kept him from focusing, as he struggled to press his weight up off the sharp steel edges of the stake through his limbs.

He looked out at the crowd as bigger whole. A sea of people, dominated by bound slaves in the hundreds with Ghiscari guards scattered amongst them armed with only spears and wearing only leather armor and thin helms. It seemed the slaves outnumbered the guards at least three-to-one, and as he bared with the constant cutting from the stakes and his weight slowly peeling him apart, and he imagined most of those guards to be slaves as well.

 _Sheep_ he thought _all afraid of the slaughter. Slave or not, any soldier that serves a cause as heinous as this is little better for their apathy than the master they serve blindly. They all fear Zlatan for his supposed power. If they could only see that they are hundreds to his one. And that they are his power. Without them, he is nothing. If they could only see._

Aegon struggled with each breath, and each thought was becoming more difficult to consider. The pain was more than anything he'd experienced, and the fight to hold his weight continued to waver from the pain of holding himself up, to pain from letting his weight sink down, and the holes in his body felt as if they had gotten wider and wider with each shift in his body weight.

He looked up, grunting to himself to try and expel the pain. The pavilion was lit by the rising sun and the torches, and the acolyte began to preach in High Valyrian. Aegon understood most of what he said, but High Valyrian was far different than the common form he'd learned from his time in ports. The common form of Valyrian was more of a bastard form, fittingly, so some of what the red robed man said passed over his head. The message was clear though, and the ceremony was about to begin.

Zlatan peered down from above, and spoke in the common Valyrian, "Bring forth those to be joined and consummated under the one true lord of the flames." He spoke of himself as a god in the third person too often to fully believe he was.

JaHeen stepped forth, draped in Aegon's jahkyar pelt and otherwise fully nude. JaHarle dragged Nahknani behind him next, still bound and fettered. She fought against the larger male of her kind, giving every inch of their procession desperate resistance, kicking, clawing, and jerking away from her captor, but he was too strong, and she eventually fell, only to be dragged up onto the pavilion.

JaHeen took her chains, and nodded to the shadow overhead. The red woman chanted something in High Valyrian, and the red acolyte finished her blessing with a brief chant of his own.

"Tell me we're finished with talk." JaHeen said, then turned to the crowd, to which they all roared, "They are all here to see her fucked!"

The crowd were mostly slaves and soldiers, and most of the men hollered in lustful agreement, themselves eager for distraction from their lot. Sometimes, the best way to appease an oppressed mob is to share the specific misery of others, so in comparison, their shit lives aren't as bad. _C'mon, burn me already._

Aegon prayed and wished. He hoped. He even pleaded aloud, but it didn't matter. He was left an afterthought as the ceremony proceeded on the stage. He both couldn't look and couldn't look away, cheering for her as she fought, wincing at the crushing blow after blow she took or fended off, only to eventually lose her fight, kicking and screaming, to the awkward lulls and hushed noise from the crowd, appropriately uneasy with the visceral display of evil propped glowingly on a pedestal. It sickened him. It enraged him. But inside, he also felt numb. He was useless to save her. When she needed his magic, he was nothing more than the bastard's bastard, and he was only ever her pathway to pain and this putrid patriarchy.

He screamed, nothing sensible or audible, but he yelled out all the same. He roared and grunted, both angry and in anguish, as the beast ravaged her for minutes that seemed an eternity. The pain in his wrists and feet almost soothed the burning boiling guilt, bubbling through his veins, and the image of JaHeen on his lover stamped into his vision, so even when he closed his eyes, all he could see was him.

A nearby guard prodded him, "Shut it, Valyrian." Aegon turned to scream at him, "You're the first I kill." The fire in his eyes was as piercing as it was hot, and the guard backed down, cowering, at once. Aegon pulled his arm away from the board with all the strength he could muster, the hammed down edges of the head of the steak cut and sunk deep into the skin around the wound as he only managed to cause intense burning agony, more blood, and the foulest sounding rip of his skin. He screamed and cried out, tortured perfectly by his captor, and losing the will to fight, even if he were to be ignited. _I've failed to protect her, but I cannot fail in avenging her. In exacting my own revenge._ He took in a deep breath, as deep as he could with the weight on his lungs and the stretch in his chest. If he could only endure some few moments more. If he could only last just a tick longer, he'd have a chance to release his rage. _Unleash the dragon._

It ended. The crowd, save the exquisitely deranged, died down to a sullen silence, traumatized at the display. The deranged let off an excruciating hoot as if to praise the evil act. Aegon tried to pinpoint the offenders, but sadly failed in the attempt. He strategized which order he'd murder them. The guard closest first, as he would be most convenient, but then JaHeen, he'd free Nahknani, and then he'd kill Zlatan and end it all. Even if it meant an end of his own.

JaHeen turned to the crowd, "Remember who you are and who you serve. Whether pink, brown, or Brindled, you owe us only twelve moons of good service. Twelve moons. Then, you can return to whatever squalor you're from with your lives and your dignity. Defy us. Fight us. Then you will end up like this bitch here, or that bitch up there," his long, pointed claw directed the mob's attention to the shorter platform and the crucified pink man propped up in a pyre.

Aegon saw the red woman, descending on a lift from the higher platform to the ground. She reached it after a long silence, the crowd intently watching the beautiful red figure floating down in the glare of the rising sun. Aegon studied her face, which was fixated on his, steady and stern. She didn't twitch a muscle or avert her eyes from his, as she sauntered slowly toward his platform and up its stairs.

At its height, she was handed a torch by the guard who'd hit him, and walked to the rail to address the mob. She paused as the crowd watched on in silence as Aegon's eyes turned to JaHeen, who was retreating to the edge of the encampment. _Don't run too far friend._ Nahknani was still lying on the pavilion, seemingly in pain, and defeated. _Hold on, my love. Hold on._

The red woman lifted the torch and proclaimed to the crowd, "This man is sentenced to the flames. May the Lord of Light judge him guilty of his sins, and may the result of this sacrifice strengthen the one true leader of this place. For the night is dark, and full of terrors"

The crowd replied in unison, as Aegon saw the rapist of his love slip away into the relative dark. He cursed his lost chance, but then began to refocus. He studied the camp and all around him. He didn't develop a structured plan, but he familiarized himself with his surrounding enough to help him. He also found his eyes fixed on Zlatan and his platform. " _For the night is dark and full of terrors._ "

Finally, she dipped the torch down, and the tiny embers quickly licked up into flames. The kindling below was coated in sap to help keep the fire burning hot, and all the better, as Aegon began to feel the cool tickling kiss of the flames below. Pumping blood pulsed in his chest so loud, he could hear his heart. The double bump in his ears welled up a burning desire for revenge, as the flames climbed higher to his legs, and he could feel the same strength building he had felt from the forest against Niisnihk and the boat.

Aegon looked up to Zlatan, as the red woman vacated Aegon's platform. She knew what was coming. The master slaver did not, and Aegon could see the tall bronze man's confused expression as Aegon's eyes aimed up at him with a wild smile from ear to ear stretch across his flame lit face.

The fire rose to greet him, and its caress soothed the physical pain of his wounds. He pulled his extended arm free, pulling the stake out with the same tact as before, but the intense strength granted by the pyre plucked the five inch stake out like a splinter. The blaze roared and licked at him, building the emotional pain into magma of hatred poised to erupt in volcanic retribution. He freed his other hand and almost fell face first from his pyre, until he leaned back and pushed up through the gaping hole in his feet. He winced, as the flash of pain powered even through the healing of the flames, and with a grunt of anguish, he adjusted the stake in his hand and heaved it through the neck of the guard he'd promised. It burst through from back to front, its point protruding out the notch in his throat, and his body quickly fell limp to the visible shock of the remaining guard atop the platform.

He reached down to free his feet, falling head first into the flames. The mob roared in chaos at the site they couldn't understand, and as Aegon rose, his body mostly engulfed in orange and yellow flares, he looked for Zlatan. He was still atop his roost, high above the fray.

Aegon turned to the board he was nailed to, standing high above the raised platform. It was about fifteen feet tall. Its bottom was mostly charred, nailed into the pyre base below, supported by other boards and beams to hold Aegon's weight steady as he was crucified and sacrificed. He clutched it, ripped it from its base, and heaved it toward one of the supports of the higher platform. Zlatan's platform.

The long board rotated in the air burning and cracking, impacting one of the supports and setting fire to the rest. The platform shook, then came crumbling down, as the supposed demi-god tumbled through the debris, dropping helplessly from the sky, to a burning pile of rubble and a thick swarming cloud of dust.

"Witness," the red woman said, "the Lord of Light has found this man's cause just. Anyone who believes in the one light of the world can see." The crowd heard and mumbled, witnessing the burning man step from his pyre and to the rail of his burning platform. Flames cracked and whipped around him. His pants and boots bubbled and melted to his skin. But the cool flames gave him strength and will. He gazed out, seeing Nahknani sit up for the first time since being brutalized. Her eyes caught his, and her defeated face perked up with slight gleam. She nodded to him, still bound, still hurting, but she laid back down with a grin. She knew he was coming.

He jumped down, still burning, into a column of Brindled captives. He grabbed the chains holding a male, one he'd never met, and ripped them apart, freeing the man. Aegon nodded to him. The man nodded back, and Aegon continued to free each slave one by one as he noticed the most loyal of Zlatan's men not looking for him in the rubble, gathering into formation and closing in around him.

"Go. Fight," Aegon said to the men he had freed, and they did, maybe understanding Valyrian, maybe not, but understanding the chance all the same. Six Brindled Men attacked the Ghiscari guards unarmed along side the burning man, and twenty guards were quickly vanquished with claws jaws and the burning hands of a blood thirsty lunatic.

Aegon charged the middle of their most dense formation, swinging his fists wildly, spinning and launching strike after strike, counter punch after spinning jump kick, a barrage and whirl of brawling blood lust, crushing jaws, skulls, and breast plates with magically charged blows that made his foes helpless against his might and wrath. He grabbed a sword, then another, and began to slash each in a rotation of spinning slices and parries, cutting through slaver after slaver to the chants and roars of the slaves still bound hoping they were witnessing their liberation.

The initial wave was vanquished in moments. Aegon looked to one of the freed men, only one had been killed. He nodded and the two understood each other. Aegon was out of the flames, but he was armed and energized. His wounds had all but healed, and his zeal had never been keener. He turned to the pavilion and began to sprint towards it. He heard the gentle rumble in the distant dawn sky and reached the stage, and the woman he loved.

He climbed up and she turned, still chained, and smiled. His face was wrought with emotion and guilt, his mind still scarred with the vision of her thrashing crying body. He shook the pain from his face and returned her smile with his. "My love," he said softly, as the chaos around them grew louder.

"I'm sorry I chased you. I couldn't let you go." She said with a tear welling in her beautiful eyes, now sunken behind her swollen face.

"I'm sorry I left you. I never should have. But there's no time, we're together now, and that's all that matters. Take this." His arm reached out an extra sword he picked up on the way to her. "We're far from finished here."

The two stood, though Nani was clearly beaten and struggled to her feat. She wasn't defeated, though, at least she wasn't any longer, as she stood with that glittering twinkle in her eye when she smiled. He'd seen it when she was horny. He'd seen it when she was blood thirsty. Both turned him on.

Fire had spread from the blazing log, and soon, more structures were catching flame. A wind off the nearby coast fanned the flames, as smoke and ash began to further cloud the encampment, partially clouding out the rising sun.

Orders were yelled from the rubble, as a figure rose. _No, it can't be._

More and more soldiers gathered, as their ranks swelled with scores of men at a time. Aegon wasn't in the flames any longer, and to defeat a formation so massive, he'd need some kind of advantage or tact. He scanned around to find the nearest flames. Hoisted above the camp, and before he was captured, he remembered quickly noticing two wooden structures near a path that lead to the coast. Empty wagons were parked outside and he hadn't seen anyone go in or come out of it once. _They must store the powder there_ he thought, and raced to the nearest flames, beckoning Nani, "C'mon."

He took off, holding her hand in his, as he rushed to the flames. He looked back at her, then past at the rubble. The flames were rising, but the dust was clearing, and he saw two tall familiar shadows gathered amongst the troops. He turned forward and straight into the flames. Nahknani held back at a safe distance as he launched into the heat and the glare.

His blood coursed through his veins, and he could feel the surge of magical energy pump into and through him. The cool lick of the fire tingled at his hips and bare stomach, as the waist high blaze burned hot, but small. The fire was fueled by a mere four or five charred logs, no bigger than the thigh of an average man, but they would do for his intended purpose.

Grasping the first, his hand cool on the cracked embers of its surface, he threw the log at the buildings with freakish strength, reaching it, but only after the log fizzed out in the air, and landed on the roof with a thud. He grabbed another, this one landed and sparked a small flare. Aegon sent the other two logs toward the other building, ensuring his intended outcome.

Both buildings caught fire and began to burn, as Aegon turned back to Nahknani, and then looked for the rubble and his foes. The Ghiscari were all still huddled around the pile without a clear purpose. Then he turned to her and said, "We should get behind something," as he looked for cover. If he was right, the buildings would explode, and soon.

He dove, pulling her behind a horse stall, and against the wall as if to avoid an inevitable explosion. They stood coiled into themselves, waiting for it. Holding their bodies still for too long, they relaxed, open their eyes and ears and Aegon peered around the corner of the wall.

He turned to her, beginning to say, "I guess I was wr-"

The first exploded. Then the second, then the scene turned to pandemonium.

Shards of the buildings were shot into the gathering of slavers, as some dropped immediately and more groaned in agony. The blast wasn't close enough to kill many of them, but the blast did create more dust, more confusion, more panic, and the perfect opportunity for the burning vengeful lunatic.

He turned to say, "Wait here to her," but he couldn't. He had already tried that tact, and it failed enormously. Instead, he asked, "Would you care to join me?"

Seated, she lifted a hand to him, saying, "Nothing would make me happier," as he pulled her chivalrously to her feet. He kept a hold of her hand, pulled her into him and kissed her. He kissed her like nothing had ever happened, and everything. He kissed her as if they were surrounded by peace, and hell. He kissed her because if he were to die, the only thing worth living this life for was her kiss, and he savored every moment of it, until his breath ran out, and the rumble from the blast died down enough to remind him of what little time this cloud could serve as cover, and if he were to ever survive long enough to kiss her again, he'd need every advantage he could get. "I love you," he said, staring longingly one last time into the gorgeous galaxy of her irises.

"Not now. Let's go!"

They ran into the cloud, Aegon taking the lead, swiping through the dense air with both swords. The first slaver he came upon was alone in the dust, and surprised to see Aegon, and his blades. Before he could lift his own short sword, Aegon slashed across his neck with two simultaneous back handed strikes, cutting his head from his body like shears. Blood sprayed in a circle around them, as Aegon heard more foes nearby react to the spray and the song of his blades. They readied their own swords, metal whirring in the smoke, as he lunged low at the sounds and stuck into another victim. He pulled out the plunged sword in his left, swiping his right sword across his body backhanded to slide through the skin of another's torso. He continued the strike around, spinning into the attack from the remaining slaver in this cluster, catching it with a cross-faced block with his right sword, and a straight stab to the exposed gut of his attacker with the left. He pulled it out, pushed the foe down and kept moving. _Onward. Forward._

He killed another. Then two more. Then he fought two as Nahknani stabbed one in the back, which distracted the other, and Aegon capitalized with another kill strike. The right sword was lodged in the crown of his skull. He rocked and wrenched it free, stepping on the dead man's head as he pulled it out.

They found more in the dust, and more fell to their deaths. Fire and smoke were around him, but he wasn't strengthened this far from the flames, and his strength now had returned to normal. The amber glow in the smoke only dissipated in places where the sun broke through, and there was a strange mixture of light and dark, smoke and sky, good and evil with each swing of his swords. He was killing all these men, but none were Zlatan, none were JaHarle or JaHeen. None were Lem.

Twenty or thirty men fell to his swords before the smoke mostly cleared, and the majority if not all of the Ghiscari, fled in fear hearing the scattered screams of each fallen foe. Nahknani stayed behind him oft as not, sneaking in for stealth kills or otherwise enjoying his cathartic revenge.

Dust and ash settling, he looked around. There was no sign of any of his targets, and the camp was spilling and crawling with running panicked slavers and slaves. Freed Brindled, pink, brown, and bronze men seemingly banded together and started fighting columns of guards on their own, brutally slaying the captors with loose stones and swinging chains. It was working. Their ranks were breaking, or failing, and the impossible odds had now almost shifted to their favor. He turned further, past the rubble and down the path toward the coast. _Almost._

At the base of the mountain leading toward the coast, a formation of a hundred or more troops formed up and began marching towards them. He guessed there were that many or so freed slaves, but in the rush of their emancipation, none thought to grab the weapons of the fallen slavers and they were running around disorganized and wild, thirsty for vengeance. Vengeance doesn't win battles, it clouds judgement, and the formation approaching was marching lockstep to quash their uprising with brutal coordinated force.

Aegon stepped to a nearby flare and absorbed the heat from the flames. He readied himself, not knowing what or how to counter a force so large, so his initial instinct was to trust his magic and plunge headstrong into the attack and fight until he died. He poised to charge, but remembered his love. _I'm not yet ready to die. There's got to be a smarter way._

From above the formation, a barrel with a lit dropped over a cliff. The barrel landed in the center of their march, four rows back in the formation, and sent each body airborne either in chunks or too high to survive, and the columns of warriors were laid to dust with one deftly placed barrel. Aegon looked up to the cliff. Chekka peaked his head over, Trihknee supporting his weight with his arm over her shorter shoulder. Aegon raised his right sword in the air as tribute to his friend. Then he turned to the butt end of a thick wooden staff the size of his fist.

Bones snapped in his nose and blood spilled quickly out, filling his nose with a stream that kept him from breathing. "No," Nahknani screamed, as she swung her sword at JaHeen, catching only the staff, but flicking away chunk after chunk. Aegon could hear the sword get caught in the meat of the wooden staff, and JaHeen roar and crash into her with a brutal straight front kick to her chest, sending her soaring upward, then rolling and tumbling away.

Aegon stood back up, still woozy, and just out of reach of the flame. He checked his hands. _Good, I held onto both._ He shook his still ringing head and stepped toward the flames.

JaHeen stood firmer than his brother had, and his stance was more relaxed, poised, waiting for Aegon to attack in vengeful rage, still furious over the ceremony. His blood bubbled in the heat, a cool tingle shivering up his spine, and everything in him thought to attack full force. Fuck him. Fuck his father and his family. He had to suffer. He had to die.

But he took a breath. He paused, as she often did, and thought better than to take the fight to him, out of the flames.

"You talk so tough for someone I've only seen face shackled foes. You beat a women without the chance to defend herself, and found pleasure when she couldn't be more disgusted. I pity men like you. For you can only defeat the weak and helpless and fuck only those you force to. Wouldn't it be nice if you won a fair fight, or fucked a woman that wanted it? Well, no woman, Brindled or bare, would ever fuck a disgusting pig as yourself, so wouldn't you at least want a fair battle? Ihk tu ahk puss ahk tihk?" Aegon didn't remember what that meant in their language, but he remembered it made Chekka livid with Shevrohn.

His ploy worked, and JaHeen charged him in a rage of his own, blind to the strategy Aegon was employing. Maybe JaHeen had missed Aegon's earlier display, but he showed no knowledge of Aegon's enhancement in the flames. He just charged as hard as he could, coiling the staff back for a two-handed forehand blow.

The bigger man reached him, planted his front foot and swung. The staff came whirring through the air with and audible whoosh and it stopped, dead midway through his swing. Aegon caught the staff in his left hand, holding it firm and steady, as JaHeen mouth dropped in shock. He struggled to try and pull it back with both hands, as Aegon's one managed to hold it almost completely still. With a stomp, Aegon crushed the shin bone of the Brindled Man, sending him yelping and to the floor on one knee. Cowering, JaHeen looked up at the burning man, as Aegon grabbed the top of his scalp. JaHeen reached for Aegon's hand, trying to break free, only for Aegon to adjust his grip to JaHeen's wrist, lift him, and begin spinning him like a whip over his head.

Aegon threw his seven foot body down to the ground with a crash, depressing a dent in the surface of the rock floor. Aegon stepped down on JaHeen's left shoulder with one foot, pressing into the joint, and ripped his wrist away. His arm severed at the shoulder joint and the Brindled Man cried out, desperately high pitched, and his face frowned with the helpless fear his victims must have felt over his years of tyranny over them. Aegon knelt down, still in the flames, and began crushing his body with quick short jabs of his fists, punching softly enough with his enhanced strength not to kill him.

He reached below his waist and gripped the weapon he'd used to attack Nahknani. He squeezed and turned it, spinning too far and past the point his skin could stretch. He pulled the stem of his manhood out from his pelvis, exposing the inner tubes and tendons which dangled like raw worms in a pool of blood that was beginning to bubble and spurt from his lap. He moaned through a bruised mouth and broken teeth with what little strength he had left, as Aegon left the body to find his love. She was fine, just bruised worse, and she walked straight past him with an empty stare, straight to JaHeen with the sword in both hands pointing downward.

She knelt over him and stabbed him. She lifted up the sword out with a rush of blood and as high as she could, then she came back down with another hard, deep thrust of steel. She lifted up, and came back down. Again, and again, until Aegon stopped counting, and there was nothing much left to his torso. He reached for her shoulder, touching it softly, to which she began sobbing uncontrollably. His embrace wrapped around her and his heart emptied out to her, as he began to tear up as well. "It's over, now. At least he is. C'mon, love. There's still much to do," he said, then kissed her blood specked lips.

They stood to see another congregation of men, led by Zlatan himself. JaHarle couldn't be too far either, unless he was as craven, faced with a true test, as the man he controlled with fear all those years. Somehow Aegon knew he wasn't, but none the less, he was nowhere amongst the chaos.

Bodies scattered the ground in all directions, slaves and slavers, Brindled and Bare, as more rushed around seeking safety in higher or further ground, away from the fray. Away from the flames.

Even leathered guards ran, some to the blaring horn summoning the remaining forces, some away. Some, on both sides, looked to be so taken by fear and panic that they couldn't have known where they were running, or were so far lost, they couldn't move at all, frozen in shock and terror. Seeing the rising force in the distance, Aegon called out to those near. Those now free. "Hear me! Stop! Your freedom stands before you, forming up, armed, and ready to put you back down into your place of servitude and subjugation." He bellowed, catching the attention of most, who recognized him as the man who survived the fire.

"Run not away from your fate, friends. Run towards it and take your life back. Take your freedom! Grab the nearest weapon and form up. They, there, are all that stand between you and your life. How many days have they stolen? How many lives? How many fathers, and mothers, and children? Do not let this tyranny stand for another day. We end this here! Now! For freedom! With me!" Aegon raised his sword, and led the disorganized charge. All within earshot responded to his call and followed his lead, but there were only thirty of them. Aegon could make up for some of the difference, especially with Nahknani following behind with a lit torch, but Zlatan's remaining forces looked to outnumber them three to one. His were also trained soldiers, though thankfully they were no Unsullied. Nevertheless, they were more tested than the rag tag group of laborers following him, and with the numbers disadvantage, and the experience gap, he led a foolhardy advance at best. More likely, he led a slaughter.

The only equalizing advantage was the fight would be in the tight proximity of the valley, which limited how wide their foe could stretch their formation, forcing them to fight a more manageable number at a time, though still significantly out numbered and outclassed by more and better warriors.

The sky rumbled in the distance, as Aegon ordered Nahknani to hand him the torch. He tucked a sword behind him, slid into his waist band and down the side of his leg until he was finished with the flame.

He held the fire to himself, like he was cooking himself for a feast. The hot energy flowed into him, and he began to run faster, ahead of his charge. When he was close enough, he flung the torch into the center of the formation of foes, pulled the sheathed sword from his pant leg, and started swinging.

He met the first man with a clash, the second with a clang, and he swung and spun, slashing skin and piercing flesh. His swings were stronger still, cutting clean through some, and the more and more he killed, less and less stepped to him for their turn to taste steel.

Standing readied, he taunted the men surrounding him, keeping a halo of at least three feet between him and them. Every step he slid forward, seven men slid back, until they could give no more ground and within three exchanges, more blood shot out into the air, peppering the ground in every shade of red there is.

They circled him, lashing out with straight long-distance stabs that were easily parried, but kept them a safe distance away, until a column of seven men had him completely surrounded. The pointed end of seven swords stared him down as he and his attackers all paused, waiting for the first move.

A man from his right came with the first, swinging his short sword slowly enough for Aegon to catch it with the sword in his right hand. Another from in front lunged at him, which he parried with his left. Then he bounced his right sword off of two other strikes from the two men behind him, followed with a circular parry with his left to another. He caught and countered all seven, the circle shifting back and forth, left and right, with the song of swords, and the blur of blades, Aegon's whipping and darting all around him like a moving shield.

His followers finally caught up and plunged their swords into some of the stymied foes from behind, as the rest of the formation Aegon left for them charged the slaves and fought back, the lines of each rush clashing together with a bang almost as loud as the explosions from the buildings.

Blood, mud, and flames clouded the beautiful sunrise. The sweat in his eyes only momentarily blurred the gory scene as he paused to notice the tragic beauty in this fight for survival. Once the two groups mixed, it was almost hard to tell who was who, as the leather armor the Ghiscari wore was caked and coated with the same mud and ash as their slaves' robes were. Brown garb battled brown garb, man killed man, and for a moment he wondered why men every engaged in such insanity. Then he caught to forehanded attack from an enemy and countered it with a spin and slash of his own. _That's why._

With each villain he vanquished, he understood it more and more. _This is us. This chaos. We live and die to outdo the rest of us._ And his swords kept spinning all the same.

Aegon kept killing, ending a quarter of their lives himself, but his followers were starting to lose ground, and the enemy formation started to advance. They were losing the battle, and even if Aegon continued at this pace, the fire was all but out around them, and he was losing his additional strength. His glory and victory was beginning to fade.

The enemy successfully advanced, pushing a column passed the living first wave of Aegon's followers, and into the meat of their formation, cutting Aegon off again, and flowing into and around the rest. Aegon fought off as many as he could, but they mostly ignored him, shielding him from protecting their flank. His allies began to fall, slave by slave, and he fought harder to keep pace. Worse, he could barely see Nahknani, who he'd gotten separated in the initial charge. He killed one more, than retreated the best he could, slashing the backs of slavers until he rejoined the group.

Climbing over the bodies of his freed men and the slavers, he reached his group just as they began to panic. He tried to shout over them to rally them once more, but his speech was already spoken, and the odds seemingly to great to overcome. Despite Aegon's rampage, they still were outnumbered at least two to one, and their numbers looked at most fifteen to the opponents, sixty or so. _Where is my love?_

Rumbling and a crash was audible behind him as Aegon turned to see what it was. On the other side of the formation of slavers, war chants and steel songs sounded, as the far edge of their enemy was now engaged on the coastal side. "C'mon, we've got help. If we fight them back here, we defeat them forever!" Aegon's troops rallied once more, and began to push back against the onslaught, as the slavers now fought on both sides of their formation.

Between kills, Aegon tried to see who had come to their rescue. It was hard to tell, but it appeared to be Ootrahk, Ootrihk, Shevrohn, and the Brindled Men, armed with steel and seething with anger. He could see on the faces of Ghiscari warriors, they were about to be defeated and they knew it.

In the center of the formation, Aegon picked out to familiar frames. It was Zlatan, waiting for his inevitable turn to swing his arahk, somehow still alive after falling from his platform. And just ahead on the front lines, was Lem, swinging away with his great sword, holding his ground against the two slaves he was fighting against. As Aegon finished off another, he glanced to see Lem ending both of his foes. Slowly, they carved their way toward each other. Aegon toward Zlatan.

Twice more, Aegon spun, firmly slashing each of his swords through a different opponent, slicing both open and to the floor. Then, he was face to face with his friend.

"I've always wanted to see whose better, Har, my boy. I'd wager its me," Lem said, smiling, and swinging his great sword.

Aegon caught the heavy long blade with both of his. He held the strong swipe with both swords saying, "This bet's for our lives, Lem. May the best man win."

"You say that," Lem said, recoiling the greatsword and swinging back from the other direction. The stiff strong blow sent stinging vibrations through the bones in Aegon's arms. "Thinking you're the better man, Har. But you're not," he swung again, which Aegon parried and countered with a stab of his own. "You killed the captain. You kept the money from me. You betrayed me first, brother. It was you Harwin Snow!" Aegon's straight stab was deflected away by a circular block from Lem's sword which he twirled into another forehanded strike.

Aegon sensing his friend's pattern, dipped under the swinging sword, instead of catching it with his, and launched two upward thrusts into his friend's chest and heart. He stood up, face to face with Lem, looked him in the eyes and corrected, "My name is Aegon Velaryon."

 _Nahknani_ he thought, as his friend's body fell to the floor. He looked around for her. She was no where to be seen in the fray. Her auburn hair would be easy to pick out, even amongst all the carnage, so that red head nowhere in sight, he ran to the edge of the fighting to see. She stayed on the outskirts of the fighting, away from danger and safe. He turned back to see the slavers' forces all but erased, and the remaining soldiers seemed ready to surrender. Most did. Some were granted mercy. Some were not so lucky, and Aegon retreated to Nahknani.

Her eyes caught his as he ran to her. There was an urgency he felt, and he didn't want to waste any time. She began to rush too, and jumped into his arms, wrapping her arms and legs around him. They kissed. Holding each other closely and squeezing their bodies together like they never wanted them to separate again. He stopped to breathe, looked into her eyes, her nose pressed against his, so close he could barely focus on her beauty. He didn't say anything, for no words could perfectly capture what they both understood, staring deep into the other, in each other's tight embrace.

Then she coughed a cute a concerning noise. "Oo," it sounded like. Quick and soft, but it was accompanied by a thud, an exhale, and a sharp pain in his gut, and a red wetness pooling between them. "I," she gasped, "wouldn't have done anything," she gasped again, blood welling at the corner of her mouth, "any other way." She smiled, then looked down. Aegon looked around her. A thick white arrow pierced through her and into him. His legs quivered until one buckled. He gripped her tightly, their bodies connected by the shaft of the arrow, and held her against his chest, her legs still wrapped around him, but losing their grip, slowly becoming limp.

"No," he cried, "No. no. no. no. no! We did it. We won. No. Noo!" He scrambled around, losing strength and focus. He was panicking and losing blood. "Someone, help me! Help her! She's hit, someone!"

Of all the people in the known world to witness it, Ootrihk, her father, rushed over first, covered in blood, holding a blunted ax he'd seen the Brindled Men wield against the trees. When he reached them, he reached out for his daughter's face, then looked above, at the cliff. JaHarle had fired the arrow after sneaking away from the same cliff above the valley. He stood staring at them, taking pride in his shot, and their pain. "Curse that wretched bitch, she finished off both of my boys. Hope it takes you too, boy." He chuckled above them from the relative safety of the high cliff. Immediately, two younger Brindled Men, the ones who were in charge of Aegon when he was first taken captive, the ones who brutally beat his face, were already off and climbing up to him, but he was too high and too far for them to reach him before he ran.

JaHarle turned to run, only to meet Chekka and Trihknee, who caught him, and pushed him off the cliff. He came crashing to the rocky ground with a bone crunching thud. Aegon wanted to kill him, but woozy from the arrow, and still clinging to Nahknani's life, he couldn't think to separate from her.

From behind, he could hear and feel the loud vibrations of familiar steps. They were Ootrahk's, and they were sprinting towards the fallen body as fast as Aegon had ever seen anyone run. His consciousness was fading as Ootrahk reached the fallen body. It moved, rolling away from Ootrahk. He was alive, but not for long, as The Mauler snatched him by his greyed mane, and began pummeling his enormous fists into JaHarle's face. From a hundred feet away, Aegon could hear JaHarle's skull crunching with every blow, and soon, the crunches turned to mushes, and the fists ceased their pounding.

Aegon still clung to Nahknani's body as her arms and legs relaxed and fell to her sides. He squeezed her, crying into her red mane, burying his face in the fire that had brought out the king inside him. He snapped the arrow from behind her, and gently slid her from off him and to the ground, her blue eyes wide and still. A trickle of blood slipped down from her full lips, and beautiful light that had led his way though the dark so many times had faded. The arrow pierced straight through her chest, and the hole inside him was almost as deep. He could feel the arrow tip in his midsection, cutting his insides, but it didn't matter. No pain had ever felt as sharp as the sight of her lifeless body on the ground before him, and he passed out, his eyes flashing white through the clear wet blur of his tears.

He woke sweating a cold sweat, then he remembered she wouldn't be there to soothe him. His heart sank, even deeper than during the rape. That pain was temporary. Deep and scarred, but healable, survivable. This pain he felt was permanent. It wasn't hatred or fear or fury. It was grief. Loss. And no matter how hard he fought or how hard he hoped, he couldn't defeat death. No one could. And most of all, it was compounded with the unavoidable truth: Her death was at his hands, and if she were to have never met Aegon, or at least never fell for him, she would have never had to suffer such a fate.

His despair made it near impossible to see, hear, or understand anything past the two inches in front of his face. For a few minutes, he stared into the blue sky, hoping he could wake from a fever dream and erase those last moments from reality. The swirling white clouds were all wrong. _It's not blue and white. It's blue and purple. Blue and pink! And it's not even the right blue! It's wrong. Fucking ALL wrong!_

He started to mumbled, to the distress of the ones around him. The ones he couldn't even see. "That's not right. It's pink and purple with blue, like the sunset. Where's the sunset gone?"

Chekka reached out, grabbed his shoulder and said, "Your grace, its midday. The sun will not set for hours." Chekka didn't understand. No one did. Her eyes were the color of the most beautiful sunset he'd ever seen. Now, he could never ever see the sun set.

A cool wind blew from off the shore, and Aegon noticed the people gathered around him. He shook his head awake, turned to see Chekka. Aegon reached out his arm to greet his knight in the traditional Brindled way. They grasped forearms and shook once. Aegon looked to his friend, feigning a smile and said, "Nice aim with the barrel. Good thing I made you carry it."

He smiled, seeing the sadness on Aegon's face, and replied, "Even if it almost killed me."

Aegon turned to see the rest of the faces, stopping at one that brought extreme emotion up from his soul. "I'm sorry," he said, facing Ootrihk, her father. "I promised you I'd sacrifice myself, and I failed. I left her, you know, I left to do this on my own. I didn't want this. I didn't want anything to happen to her."

"Neither did I," he said, though not bitterly, "but she never listened. She always knew how to get what she wanted. And all she wanted was to be with you." He smiled. "You and she did a great thing here that will be remembered forever. We have decided to name these mountains and carve your likenesses in both your honor. The mountain here, will be Drahkness Kahn, and your likeness will be carved into the stone. The mountain there, that will be Nahknani, and her likeness will be carved in as well."

"Name the mountain, Nani." Aegon said between tears.

"Why Nani, and not Nahknani?" her father asked.

"Because she said that only people who loved her called her Nani. And as you tell her story for the rest of time, I want people to love her, as I do. And always will." He turned into himself to cry, sobbing soft and quiet with no privacy. He cried for a brief moment, until one more horror tweaked his mind.

"And what of Zlatan?" he asked, nervous to hear the answer.

"He escaped," Shevrohn answered quickly and curtly. "We searched but have yet to find him. We will not stop, but I fear he has been long gone, even before the fighting was truly over."

"Then our job here isn't finished," Aegon said. Then he stood up, his head became light and almost fainted, but he regained his composure and started to walk toward another structure he'd seen during the battle.

"What are you doing, your grace? You shouldn't be up and walking around." Chekka said.

"Neither should you," he replied.

He walked, limping, to a worn shack, similarly built to the building he destroyed earlier. He disappeared from the view of his friends, and reappeared with a barrel on his shoulder. "What are you going to do with that?" Ootrihk asked.

"If the mine still stands, Zlatan will be back with more soldiers and more slaves. He thinks he needs your kind to mine effectively, so he will continue to hunt you down. A man with his resources, he won't ever stop until he's produced enough of the powder to sell or unleash on the world. For the future of your people, and the known world, the mine must be destroyed, and it can only be fully destroyed from deep with, where no one can go unharmed but me."

Aegon said, with a sullen smile. "Destiny, friends. This was always it."

Chekka moved to help him, limping himself. "It would be my honor to help carry this burden with you."

"No, this is mine to carry. This is my weight to bare," Aegon responded.

"At least let us see you to the mine," Ootrihk insisted.

Chekka, Shevrohn, Trihknee, Ootrihk, and Ootrahk, all saw him to the mine, helping him with the barrel. As they walked, he reflected on how short it had been since he'd been their captive, and how drastically their relationships evolved. He could call all of them friends, and considering the previous night's events, he considered them the best he'd earned. Nahknani was gone, her body laid to rest, and there was nothing left for him in the known world. He could finally rest, knowing he completed his purpose. He looked into the steaming yellow cave, surrounded on both sides by bubbling pools of what he assumed were acid, popping and burning in a soothing rhythmic pulse, that helped calm him even more.

He hugged his new friend Chekka, "Thank you, my friend."

"No, your grace, our thanks are for you. Without you, we would have been stuck to those ships, and forced to work in the same mine. I will sing the praises of your glory for all time. The Drahkness Kahn, Aegon Velayron, freer of slaves, the man on fire, rightful king of Westeros, and uniter of the Brindled Men."

It sounded good to have titles, to have meaning, but they rang empty as he pictured her dying expression, so close to him, yet so far away. He forced a smile on his face as he embraced his new friend for the last time. They nodded to each other, and Chekka bowed dramatically, eliciting a quick chuckle from the rest.

Trihknee stepped quickly, bowed herself and said, "We are lucky to have known you, Aegon. I am sorry for Nani, but we will never forget her. Or you. Thank you." She fought hard to look into his eyes, as she sensed his already fragile composure. She allowed him to continue grieving, barely acknowledging her more than a nod. He respected her condolences and thanks, but if he tried to respond with anything more than a nod, he would lose hold of his strong façade, and crumble back into the crushing despair of his loss. Their loss.

Ootrihk reached his hand out, grasped him by the shoulder and said, "None feel this loss as deeply as we do. You may blame yourself, if you wish, you deserve that right, both based on the truth and the circumstances, but know this: if it wasn't for my cowardice and my weakness, my daughter would not have had to correct my wrongs. Her sacrifice is because of my failures as both a leader, and father, and after hating you for what you've done, I've come to appreciate and am thankful for your arrival. For your honor, but mostly, for your heart. My daughter would have never followed you so fervently if you weren't anything other than what you've shown to be. You're a hero to us all, Aegon, and my deepest thanks and sympathies go out to you. But do not do this last thing. No more have to die."

"No more of your people will. It has been the honor and glory of my life to save, meet, and fall in love with your daughter. She taught me more about myself in the brief moments I'd known her, than anyone else in my life. Her love, knowing her love, has made mine a life worth living. If there was another way," Aegon said, "I'd suggest it. But with Zlatan still alive, even if he were to have been caught or killed, this mine will always bring death and evil. It must be destroyed. This must all end here, or Nahknani's sacrifice was all for naught."

The last to send him off was Ootrahk, the big imposing presence that frightened him from the moment they first met. Luckily, he had never had to test his strength, but even more fortunate, was the mutual respect they had built through only a few interactions, dramatic as they were.

"You can find the will to live, son," he said, holding something in his hands. "I too experienced a loss like yours, brutal visceral, unforgivable."

"The man who killed your wife and daughter survived until today. You were driven by revenge to live on. I have killed the man who raped her, and you killed the man who took her from me. Now, all that's left for me is the sadness of her loss, and the guilt of so many others I failed. In doing this, I will be able to finish my journey, finish my purpose, and restore freedom and unity to your lands."

"Whatever your decision, I believe this is yours." Ootrahk extended his arm, offering the dirk, his final reminder of the boy who used to be, and the symbol for the man he'd become.

"Thank you, but I don't know if I'll be needing this."

"Take it anyway. You never know what you'll need it for."

Aegon grabbed it and held it in his hands for a moment. It was good to see his weapon again, but then he thought of the day he earned it. The days in the jungle he'd lost it. And the last time someone gave it to him. _My love._ "Thank you, Ootrahk."

"We, the Brindled Men, do not deserve a hero such as you, Aegon but are thankful the Great Chaka sent you to us. Your songs will be sung from this night until the end of our kind, and every child born henceforth shall play Drahkness Kahn with their friends, squabbling over who gets to play you." Aegon remembered his own nights playing knight. It was a touching and fitting end. _Forward. Onward._

He nodded to Ootrahk, still holding himself together, letting out a quick burst of words, the only ones he could muster, "Live joyous and just, and may those children hear my stories now and forever more."

He picked up the barrel, and hobbled into the opening of the mine. He looked back once to see the group disperse, needing to take cover from what he was about to do. One barrel would be enough if he was deep enough in the cave, but he worried if his sacrifice would be enough.

Sulfur and brimstone filled his nose, and the stinging burn of the acidic air made his eyes squint and tear. The oppressive heat from the steam rising in the air, choked him, gagged him, and the rotten egg smell that grew stronger and stronger as he walked deeper in the mine, forced him to stop twice to wretch. The last leg of his journey was a walk through hell, and he smiled knowing his efforts kept any more from ever entering a place such as this ever again.

The thin path deep into the mine was lit with torches, but their wicks were failing and the light flickered, making his passage tough and painful. Jagged sharp edges would rake at his skin in the dark unlit by his torch, its own flame beginning to flicker. Soon, his would be out too, and it was good that Ootrahk had given him the dirk. He could use it on a flint stone for a spark.

The path opened up into a sprawling cavern, sparkling with dotted yellow stones, and rock formations, rising from the bottom of the cave in tall cylindrical columns of yellow. The light from his torch flickered, as the open space drank in the light and reflected it back, illuminating more of the clearing than it should. He couldn't see how deep it went, but he did know where the entrance was, and quickly deduced the best place to initiate the blast.

He placed the barrel and led the line, hesitating momentarily before ignite it. It was a hard life, but a good one. He had found peace in his quest and his mission, and he found his sentence a fitting punishment for all of his sins, intentional or otherwise, and he closed his eyes as he dipped the torch down, lighting the line, beginning the countdown to his end.

He pictured Nahknani, struggling from the horrifying images that scarred his brain, and the unforgettable perfection in the special moments they shared. He remembered seeing her turn for the first time. The shock of seeing a woman so savage and so beautiful. He remembered her first advances and the uncomfortable interest she stirred within him, causing his member to pulse as his mind struggled to agree. He remembered loving her for the first time, seeing her desperation after the boat explosion, searching the deck wide eyed and in pain from his absence. He remembered checking out her ass for the first time, and the luscious way it bounced away. And he remembered kissing her, loving her for the first time. Their two bodies connected in such a pleasingly physical and deeply emotional way, he wanted to wander deep into those moments and pass on with her and them together on his mind.

 _Dragonseed_ heheard from the nondescript air around him. The multitude of voices sounded in unison, seemingly from no where and everywhere. _We have judged you wrongly. Many thanks and gratitude are in order for your removal of our worst and gravest pestilence. This cavern will fully collapse from the blast. To your right._ He opened his eyes and looked. _Is the opening to a passageway. If you hurry, you may still have time to save yourself._

He saw the opening, and wondered if it was a trap. He was dead either way, so what could it hurt to try, so his decision came down to if he wanted it. Or if he was content in his resignation.

Nahknani wouldn't want him to die, but did he truly wish to live without her? With the incredible guilt of her death and the deaths of so many others, did he deserve to live? The line burned through, crawling toward the barrel, and he thought he could hear a woman's voice. _Aegon._

"I'm here," he answered, but heard nothing more. He stood, knowing what need to be attempted. _One more adventure, if nothing else. Better to die fighting, than lying down._

He rushed to the crack, too late most like, but he raced as quickly as he could, damning the pain with each step, as he slipped sideways into the crack. The jagged rocks scratched and scraped at his skin as he sidestepped through, but it was wide enough that he could keep constant progress, so he continued step by step pushing through cuts and pain. _Forward. Onward._

His heart began to beat faster, as he sensed his time running out. He could see light at the far end of the crevasse, peering through in a thin but bright beam. He squinted, dropped his torch, and trudged on, shuffling his feet as fast as they could take him.

He remembered crossing under the river with Nani, and their desperate last push for life through the closing cracks behind them.

_Just a bit further, Dragonseed. Your journey's just begun._

He heard the boom and the entire mountain shook. The pointed walls dug in against his ribs, vibrated, and sent a shock wave through the rock with a pulsing rumble. His ribs cracked absorbing the shock, and the pain from his wound, his broken heart, and his freshly cracked and scraped ribs stopped him for a moment. A deep breath in, then out, cleared his mind and refocused his energy, as the walls began to shift and shake, opening and closing on and around him, pushing his lungs closed, and opening enough for a sprint.

He clawed and bounded through, pulling and cutting his body apart, reaching and racing for life, the light at the end of the crevasse.

Stones began to crumble and fall from above him, pelting his head and filling his feet. Dust and rubble began to flow from other crevasses and his path was all but closing, the light dimming, and fading away.

Dark, he couldn't see his path, yet he still struggled, feeling and clutching at the jagged walls, peeling his bleeding body through the course to freedom. He body kept sliding through, closer and closer to the exit, then a rush of heat of smooth slick liquid rushed and pushed him further, closing in all around him, propelling him toward the opening slower than it was reaching his neck. His head. His mouth.

The thick hot tar pushed him, cutting him further. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. But he felt his body rising, flowing. He was losing breath, panicking. Dying. He thought of his love, and her beautiful smile. He eyebrow that spoke. Her auburn mane and the way it glowed in the flames. He relaxed. And fell, motionless.

Epilogue

_Deep within the hottest spark, she peered into the blaze and into the heart of her purpose. "Lord of Light, show me the way," she chanted in High Valyrian, rested on a smooth black stone with her legs crossed and her body nude, her crimson hair flowing, covering her breasts, and the red ruby necklace glowing. The warm caress of the flames soothed her frayed nerves and warmed her wet lower lips, as her dealings with her Lord were as sensual as spiritual, and her body was not only his to work through, but his to do with what he would, giving her the gift of youth when it had been long lost to her, and the gift of beauty when it had been almost forgotten. His luscious warm kiss wrapped and enveloped her skin, as the warmth was his seed, and the flames his member._

_Flashing in the bright flare, her eyes saw his message, saw her vision, and she knew the time had come. She had been patiently waiting for the moment since setting her prince on fire, condemning him to the last leg of his destiny, and ensuring no mortal could conquer the flames, and thus, the known world. She was resigned to finishing her sentence as his servant, if the Lord wished it, after giving so much for so long for so tragic a cause and story. She had grown to love the man she sought to guide, much less than her affection for her Lord, but as much as she had admired any mere mortal during her century of service. His heart was pure, as pure as the virgin flames, and it hurt her deeply to hurt him so. She wished there was another way he could fulfill his destiny, but as much as she could understand, his purpose would always end in tragedy. And his journey must need continue._

_She rose from her stone, and slipped on her robes and sandals. The terrain was treacherous, though she knew a path to where she was needed, though it was not her strength in this world to climb or trek. She was a persuasive magical beauty, not a warrior, and her body was far older than it seemed. So, the journey down was as arduous as any spell or hardship she had endured. But the Lord willed it, so she trekked._

_Soon she reached the base of the volcano, a living representation of her lord. She wished she had the prince's power to bathe in the heat, as she would languish in the euphoria of her Lord's fruit, and bask in the glorious warmth of the magma if she could. There was a recent, yet small, eruption from the side of Drahkness Kahn, the new name for the volcano, that spilled the holy orange liquid into the bordering sea, creating new ground. New lands sand by grain of sand._

_She ran, sweating and out of breath, her body not built for such strenuous activity, to the place her Lord had sent her. To the place her prince was buried._

_She stepped over the cooling magma, which was lined with a thin hardened crust above the still smoldering and smoking heat below. Some areas still flowed, thick and smooth, a gray wave of silent marbled stone, glowing like her red ruby. She saw it. She saw him. And scurried to his side, pulling his arm out from the thick and bubbling pool of lava. Her Lord protected her from the heat, though she could feel it pressing in from all around her. His weight was far too heavy, so she chanted for assistance, and the magma pushed him up, her Lord responding to her plea, and pushing the prince to the surface._

_His body and face were encrusted and encased in the same thin crust, though beneath was his body, too hot to touch, smoldering now finally free on the smoking floor. She cracked away at the crust, freeing his face, his eyes, his nose, and his mouth. His pale face was motionless, neither taking in or letting out breath. So she closed her eyes, prayed to her Lord, chanted over the prince and kissed him. Her soft wet warm lips, pressed and played against his, and as she opened her mouth to slip her tongue in, she let out a breath of her own into him, then chanted for her Lord to assist once more. She repeated the kiss, pushing deep and breathing hard into him, so much, his chest rose and cracked the crust. She demanded the Lord's assistance, and chanted harder and louder, more fervently, more sensually._

" _Lord, give me the strength to find your servant," she leaned in for another kiss. "Give me the strength to bring him back." Another, his lips seemed warmer. Its working. "Give him his life and his destiny. May you grace the prince with the life you have promised. Give him his life, my Lord."_

Aegon came to with a deep and desperate gasp of air. His body felt colder than it ever had, even encased in crusted lava. The heat from the magma healed him head to toe, but it suffocated him, preserving him somehow. He opened his eyes, breaking a thin layer of crust, to see the red woman, kneeling over him, barely covered by her red silk robe, her crimson hair loose and down over her shoulders. "Is this a dream?" he asked, softly and confused.

" _No, Aegon Velaryon. You have returned to this world. The Lord of Light is not finished with you. Your journey has only begun. It will be hard to continue on, but you must. There are more than these people that need you, and your destiny is far from fulfilled._

He realized and remembered. He wriggled free of the casing of magma, and rose to his feet. They were at the coast, the stiff cool breeze, salty from the ocean, flowing over him, refreshing him, and reminding him of his life. The life he lost. The new life he'd found. Then he remembered his love. She could never be replaced in his heart, but he fought in the cavern to live on. He thought he'd left too late, only to awaken here, again, the sun cutting his eyes like daggers. He stood, looking into the horizon, the dirk on his hip and a half hearted grin on his face. "I believe this is yours, she said, handing him the jahkyar cloak."

He threw it over his shoulders and clasped it together in front. The wind blew the cloak out, whipping behind as he survey the new world he had conquered, and the horizon that led to lands unseen. Places unknown, and a destiny he still didn't fully understand. He paused, as she did, thinking of her, and his loss.

_Forward. Onward._

**A/N Thank you for reading this book, this chapter, this journey for both Harwin Snow, and myself. This is the first ever story I've completed, and though I will go back and correct all the grammar, misspellings, punctuation, and awkward sentences; the story has come together in a way that I am both proud of and convinced in, and I already miss this journey, this setting, and this character.**

**I would like to extend a special thanks to those that have taken this journey with me. To Serrae, who was my first comment and one of the first to ever read, follow, and fave my work. To Awkane, who read my work and pushed me to post it more, because of the belief in how good this story is, and wanting to help share it. Thanks to Zoom99, Tom-Bor, Red2016 Pokemark17, Felon GT, Mikkelibob, InteriorFlux, RandoFox, Tarturus0884, GrimMaw, and especially DickWadd, because no endeavor can truly be a success without at least one hater.**

**Thanks to MogaroMutis, the author of the Green Tome, and bykim0120, the author of From Ashes Begin Anew, and Jade Dragon for their messages and fellowship. They are cool people and have cool works, so check them out. I like them.**

**Also thanks to pgarhwal33 for your messages, and if you love Sothoryos, pm pgarhwal33 and encourage the work in progress and to keep getting closer to writing that first chapter.**

**Please, please, please, message me or comment on the work, especially now that it's done, on what you liked. Who was cool. Anything, just let me know your thoughts as now I look to improve and edit the work. What you guys think is important to me, and I love hearing parts and characters you like and why.**

**Most importantly, I want to hear what you guys think for what's next. For me, I've been considering doing a work on the Blackfyre Rebellion, which admittedly would be too difficult to pump out regularly, and would force me into a dark hovel, checking and cross referencing canon and the timeline to do it justice and not mess it up. That will be great, and exciting, and honestly, I'd probably get more follows and faves, but the reason I love Sothoryos is it's a World of Ice and Fire, and NOT The Song of Ice and Fire. Its barely in the timeline, but could happen in canon, with little alterations of anything set in stone, if any at all. Fire and Blood II hasn't been published yet, so this in essence could be a part of the larger narrative. But Aegon's journey will never lead back to Westeros (at least written by me anyway). Instead, his journey will take him North and East of Sothoryos, but I want to hear from you guys.**

**Comment on what you think the next stage of his journey will be. His destiny has yet to be fulfilled, and almost mirror to another Ice and Fire lineage presumed bastard, the Lord of Light has brought him back. Please, don't ask if I can have him brood around, complaining for a whole season, only to stab a YiTi-ish queen after a horrible heel turn and wander back into the Sothoryosi jungle with Lem the hahkyeen's babies. It's bad enough D &D did it to Jon, please don't ask to do it to Har too.**

**But in all seriousness, comment and message me on what you think would be cool for him to do next. Leng? Asshai? Heck, do you want to see him try Westeros again? I know I've said he won't, but I also originally thought he would never get with Nahknani. Little did I know, huh.**

**Once again, and finally. Thank you from the bottom of my heart and the tips of my fingers. I've worked really hard to finish this and I hope you all enjoy and appreciate it. I'm sorry there wasn't a fairy tale end to this, but this is within ASOIAF, and you're lucky Aegon is alive at all.**

**Thanks again. Harwin Snow.**


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